Jayne had academically stood out from the crowd and once she finished her degree, she was head hunted by many government agencies and began working on high profile projects including Project Pandora, the MEDUSA weapon, and for the Walter Hill Army Institute of Research. Jayne oversaw the development of Microwave weapons and low frequency weapons, while the sister branch of military laboratories worked on stamina inducing programs and genetic screening.
These paralleled high profile genetic projects, most of which were top-secret, consisted of conducting tissue culture, human transformation, molecular biology and analytical characterization experiments to develop transgenic events in humans. One of the sub-projects had made a study of dead cells and tissues bio chemical warfare and its effects. One of the teams of scientists worked to regenerate the dead cells as an antidote to a biological attack. This feat was accomplished, another team were delegated to separate the regenerated dead cells, and execute each one, a reversal of the process should it have adverse effects.
Within a week she discovered why the teams were regenerated dead cells only to be destroyed whilst leaving healthy cells unharmed. It was a genetic break-through, simply called seventy-two dead pulse (72DP) but its celebration short lived. News spread like wildfire that the dead were returning to life with no explanation and no justification. At first she considered whether their sister branch experiments had been the cause, a possible breach by the other team, but it was a worldwide phenomenon. In addition, she could tell these laboratories had been set up to recreate the phenomenon in a bid to bring the outbreak to a standstill.
Jayne leading a group threw herself completely into her work and provided appropriate levels of direction to lab members as they developed another solution 77DP should 72 fail.
The dead’s chaos and destruction felt a world away deep within the safety the bunker. Knowing she was doing something to stop this contamination and the hope her family may have survived was the only comfort she had. Little did she know even within the safety of the concrete bunkers this would be short lived and it was not long before she encountered the dead first hand...
The general, six-feet tall, with broad shoulders keeled over in his soon to be withdrawn green uniform. Within minutes of his collapse and cessation of breathing, an eye opened on his contorted face. His electronic security tags opened the security locks and he made his way to the surface of the underground bunker.
The guard didn’t stop him at the last checkpoint door, putting the general’s sluggish walk down to tiredness or maybe the result of a few too many drinks. The general’s head rose quickly as the guard’s cheek and tongue was torn from his face. Then all hell broke loose as the general’s security tags opened the outer doors, letting in tens of the vile and ugly creatures who stumbled over each other as they burst their way in.
Bullets were only useful if the brain was destroyed or severed from the spinal cord. However, these creatures evidently fragile depending on their state of decay and despite having a poor sense of balance were relentless.
Jayne knew this information inside out, reading carefully the news briefs and watching horrifying web footage during conference meetings.
She vividly remembered her escape. It was horrifying as she slipped through the closing bunker doors.
“You’re too important!” stated one of the project supervisors holding back the dead as the doors sealed. It was the moment that had saved Jayne from the same fate as her now deceased work friends, family and thousands of countless others. Thoughts of 72’s failed field tests were far from her mind, as Jayne used all her survival skills to her advantage she had escaped from the death-infested base with her Italian gun. She ran from the bunker with the dark, ominous, brooding heavens hanging over her as she darted and weaved past the gruesome human shells. But one thing was cemented in her mind and that was the static electricity that the dead gave off as she brushed past them and at that moment she realised the importance of 77DP and how close she had come.
At first light, the sky was a pale orange and dew covered the town. Through the ghostly mist, a Jayne appeared in the centre of the street dressed in tatty green army combat clothes, armed with a M4 carbine firearm. Like an extra from an action film, Jayne Reed entered the ominous and eerie town of Farmore. She passed an empty church that was now missing its large oak doors, the sun glinting through the stained glass causing a wonderful display of colours on the damp reflective floor within.
The turf to a semi-detached house were overgrown with weeds taking control over the once perfect lawn. She walked up the path now covered with wild flower and entered the modest size house, which had been long since abandoned. A smell of damped lingered in the air and whilst everything looked in its place there was a layer of dust that had settled over everything. Crossing the hallway, she walked into the spacious living room and picked up a framed photo as she placed down her rifle. She sat on a nearby leather seat, sending dust particles into the air. Wiping the photo with her sleeve, she allowed herself the smallest smile as she recalled the day it was taken; it was of her and her parents in Paris. The street sellers and other tourists surrounded them as they stood in front of the base of the Eiffel Tower. Knowing it was unlikely they escaped she knew they would have succumbed to death, victims of the pandemic, her smile turned to tears as she allowed herself to grieve for her loss, shuddering she glanced up at the blood-smudged bay window. It was an instant reminder that she wasn’t safe; she snatched up her gun and walked back out into the street. She was exhausted and at the end of her tether. The people and place she had once loved was now hollow and empty. Why? She asked herself. A hopeless thought of revenge came over her and 77DP always lingered in the forefront of her mind, it bothered her it was untested.
The street that was once so familiar and welcoming now appeared alien. Jayne’s feet ached and she couldn’t shift the thought that she had come a long way for nothing. She had hoped to find her family, but now she had nobody. She looked intently at the central road markings of the street, which disappeared into an engulfing mist.
“Hello,” she whispered without realising. She had not spoken to anyone for over a long-time. She followed the painted white lines walking further down the street. She stopped and against all hope gave another, “Hello?” Not really recognising her own voice, she cleared her throat and tried again, “Hello, anyone?” her voice echoed. Stupid, she thought, filling with dread.
A small boy emerged from the haze up ahead, from a distance he looked quite normal but Jayne noticed that his movement was flawed. He wore a Spiderman t-shirt, dirty grey jeans and one trainer. As the boy came towards Jayne, she could see his bare foot was almost cobalt blue, focussing up on his face she saw that his skin was pale, hair matted and lips stained with blood.
She took aim at the little boys head, her finger rested on the trigger, she could now make out his eyes, glazed over and lifeless. She fired the gun, in front of the boys feet tarmac flicked up into the air.
The mist rolled, oozing its way across the dimly lit street that eerily began to stir to life. Out of doorways, houses, alleys and abandoned cars under the flickering streetlights came more of the creatures, walking and crawling in search of blood, it seems even the dead slept, but their slumber had now been disturbed. A priest, a homeless person, a man wearing a superhero outfit, another in the local ice-cream parlour uniform, office workers, soldiers, teenage gangs, all mixtures of a once ‘normal’ society emerged. Shuffling forward they began to fill the street with a longing and hunger for the warm blooded, nourishing and active female that stood before them.
Lowering her gun, Jayne was panic-stricken and stunned as she stood there in amazement watching the undead lynch mob ambling towards her. Her brain wanted her to move but her legs had gone numb. She stood stock-still as if waiting for the adrenaline to kick-in. Setting the gun from three round bursts to semi automatic she fired into the crowd before making a run through a narrow and cluttered alley to her left.
Splashing throu
gh the puddles from the recent rain, she made her way out into the next street. Suddenly two of the bloodied creatures made a grab for her out of the shadows. Quickly she shot one in the shoulder sending it crashing to the floor. The other one took a shot between the eyes, it dropped to its knees almost headless and fell face flat onto the damp ground. Even though she was exhausted Jayne kept running, heading towards her old secondary school.
Dead bodies lay at the school gates and fencing. Peering through the fence the school seemed different than she remembered it, newer maybe, but she couldn’t be sure in the mist that now circled around it. Climbing the fence at speed, one of the dead reached up and seized her worn combat boot, she swiftly kicked it away; it fell to the floor and then sat there, gazing at her. She landed on the yard making eye contact with the man through the bars of the gate. He was in his twenties with a face that would once have been good-looking, handsome almost but now pale and cold, his neck was broken and torn. She could see no emotion, no soul in the ‘living’ thing’s eyes. Knowing there was only one thing to do, Jayne ended its suffering and hunger for her with one burst from her powerful gun; the hydrostatic shock effect sent matter shooting through the air, it was a sight that Jayne could not get used to.
Gunshots awoke Sam from another uneasy and fitful sleep, he ignored what sounded like decreasing gunfire outside; survivors, thugs or scavengers didn’t concern him, as long as they stayed away and out of his school. CRUNCH. Broken test tubes that Sam had scattered as an extra security measure the previous night startled him. Now he was wide-awake. The sound of crunching glass alarmed him, the noise obviously meant that someone was in the school, someone or something had found a way in, he thought.
He picked up his machete; its blade glinted in the fading candlelight. Even though the electrics were still working, somewhat intermittently, he preferred the softer more soothing and less eye-catching candlelight, whilst his supplies still lasted.
Slowly he stood up and quietly walked to the door. With his ear close to the grimy glass, he listened intently. From the footsteps moving outside in the corridor he could tell that the intruder was light-footed, well balanced and obviously not dead. His palms began to sweat and his heart raced. Killing an already dead bag of pus didn’t bother him too much, but killing a living, still-breathing person did. He had been lucky so far, not to cross anyone’s path or have anyone cross his. Riotous thieves were widespread in the early days but the dead appeared to have at least cured the cities of crime and corruption.
He bowed his head and looked at his tightly gripped hand around the handle of the blade. This is no life. Enough is enough. I’ve had enough of hiding, I hope this fucker gets the edge and kills me, now would be a good moment to meet my maker. “Come on.” he murmured, firmly gripping the door handle, ready to wrench it open.
In the flickering light coming from the door Jayne could see a shadow on the corridor wall. Without hesitation, she aimed and fired!
The door’s glass shattered and the force burst it open, “Is that the best you can do, you crazy ass?” Sam yelled waving the blade in what he hoped looked like a menacing manner.
“Come out with your hands up.” Jayne shouted with her finger firmly on the trigger.
A woman Sam was both trusting and somewhat naïve, without nearing the voice of other humans for so long he couldn’t resist her voice. He shuffled out into the corridor with his arms raised in the air, recognising her instantly. The girl in the car, he recalled, it wouldn’t be that bad to be killed by her... His thoughts were interrupted and his attention was brought back to the present situation as at that point he almost did die.
Jayne shot at him again, the machete spun from his hand with a chink into the darkness, nearly taking off his fingers with it.
It was a chance meeting of a lonely needy man and woman. A sexually frustrated, sick, desperate thought of rape snaked in his mind, but he was better than that, better than ‘them’, those rapist and paedophiles, that took advantage of the vulnerable in these lawless and torturous times.
The encounter was far from the amorous evening he had first envisaged. Gone were the days of a slap up meal in Swizzles, the cinema and then back to his place for coffee and a cheap chat up line was the last thing on his mind. Those days were long gone. Now he was just glad of the company, they were both glad of the company, of each other, of finding another human being that was compassionate and capable of breathing.
Within a week, they had both cleaned and tidied up room 12. Over the smell of detergent they clinked champagne glasses looted from the local shop on one of their trips to get more supplies.
With everything that was happening outside the school gates, they still managed to keep their spirits, playing board games that they had found in one of the other classrooms. At one point they set up an electronic game station but with the electric supply so unreliable the game kept cutting out and Jayne in frustration smashed it into pieces with the butt of her gun.
One night, Sam returned from his supermarket haul with three bottles of wine, some bland tinned food and biscuits. They ate and talked about life, death and marriage in the warm coloured dancing light of the candles against the walls
“I saw you get into that car you smiled.”
Jayne didn’t really remember seeing Sam in town before the outbreak became serious. “I clearly recall the day I spoke with Major Marshal.”
“It’s getting too dangerous out there, the dead can smell me, they must be running low on food and they seem more riled up than usual.” He changed the subject. “Would you want a child in this world?” asked Sam opening can of tinned of tangerines.
“Yes,” coughed Jayne.
“But why?” he took another mouthful of tangerines.
“Humans have always encountered disasters throughout history, the children keep coming. Anyway we’ve just got comfortable.” she smiled holding a glass of wine in the air. “See, we’re not even on the brink yet.”
“So we have to survive, as a race,” he put down the can and gently topped up her glass.
“It’s pre-programmed into us,” she looked deep into the rippling red wine, “that survival instinct. We’ve just forgotten with our modern comforts. Other countries will be coping and surviving better than us. The Congo, Haiti... Many districts in Europe. Hell even downtown L.A.”
“It’s that same instinct that’s keeping those things going. Damn land sharks.” spat Sam.
“It’s possible to live our life out here.” Jayne muttered.
“Didn’t you hear me? Its feeding time out there and they are really hungry.”
“We’ll adapt,”
“Outsmart them.” Sam mused.
“Build a dead killing machine. Then smash! Our time, the living back on top again,” she enthused, swirling the wine in her glass before finishing it off.
“Who’ll restock the shops?” questioned Sam picking some crumbs off his jeans.
She stood up and looked though a gap in the boarded window. He’s right, she thought, would it be sustainable to grow their own food, how long before the water supply was exhausted? Many different thoughts ran though her mind as she gazed at the surrounding fence to the school.
With her forefinger she checked the cleanliness of the windowsill, “There was a biological agent, colourless, odourless and tasteless, an extremely poisonous gas. That said it does not kill or harm living organisms,” Jayne counted on her fingers, “it was test number seventy-two, essentially a vesicant, a pulmonary agent, an incapacitating agent.”
“In English, layman terms, please Jayne.” Sam looked at her puzzled.
“It can be a gas or solid compound it was designed to kill the dead.” The atmosphere of the room turned sombre.
“So why haven’t the government used it?” questioned Samuel.
“They did. It failed. But I think they were looking at a genetic instead of practical level.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“After test 72 failed, th
e network gave their full attention to me and EMP solution.”
“EMP?”
“An electromagnetic pulse,” She paused, long conditioned to secrecy, “A burst of electromagnetic radiation usually from the detonation of a nuclear bomb.”
“I knew it came close again when the outbreak first started, but not a nuclear bomb to stop this! We’d all die. They were going to blow us up,” Exclaimed Sam shaking his head.
“It was seriously considered, but I was developing an alternative.” He looked at her confused. “Okay picture an explosion high above the earth in military terminology it’s called HEMP or high-altitude electromagnetic pulse. The damage caused varies on different factors, the yield, gamma rays and altitude, EMP 1, EMP 2 and three.
“Its science fiction stuff?” he gave a look of disbelief.
“No, not at all, you can find this in unclassified literature. This has been around since 1946 but was pushed forwards leaps and bounds in the sixties.”
“What has this do with these walking corpses?”
“NNEMP, is a non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse. It’s used to block communications usually delivered by cruise missiles the energy yield is lower. Kind of putting foil in a microwave affect, screwing with anything powered with a pulse, electronic warfare.”
“These things are powered by some kind of electric? That’s why if you touch them you get a little static shock? I see where you’re going.” Sam stated smiling.
“Exactly, we’ve all got a low current that pulsates though us but these appear to have a higher electric pulse.” She became excited. “We took the foundation of the High-energy radio frequency weapon HERF and high-power radio frequency weapon HPRF and interjected this with the electromagnetic pulse.” She continued to ramble. “Giving us a weapon that doesn’t have the effects to our central nervous system at most we’d get some nausea and or disorientation. In theory seventy-seven would heighten their already high electric pulses, peaking their power...”
Dead Pulse Page 3