Dead Pulse

by A. M. Esmonde

  “This is shit, damn it!” yelled Frank Marshal, the ageing man slammed down his radio and lent up against an M1A2 Abram tank, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. Hardy you little shit, he thought.

  “Major?” Questioned House his second in command.

  “Remind me again why we call you House sergeant?”

  “Because of my sheer size sir,” Smiled House.

  Frank chewed incessantly as he explained the anomalous mission to House.

  “We’ve lost communication with the Vice President. She’s was on her way to a safe room in Ravenswood city; it was under control by fourth battalion but those things have left the area red coded. She has biometric access rights to a central supercomputer that can extract seventy-seven’s backup data from the hard drive you recovered,” Frank heaved a sigh.

  “No one else has the codes?” questioned House dumbfounded.

  “The encryption codes are known only to Jayne Reed, it was her personal baby. She is dead. Therefore, we need the Vice. Hardy is sucking up with the higher chain of command, I’m on my own. Politics and money, seventy-seven is a great asset,” pointed out Frank.

  House piped up, “Off the record Frank this is your call but the army is falling apart, this is one mission too many, a suicide mission, you know it, I know it, but I’m a professional and I’ll do it because I want to end this.”

  Frank looked blankly up at House who turned and walked away shaking his head loathingly.

  Frank watched the big man brief a platoon beneath skies that were quickly filling with darkened clouds. As soon as the men had kitted up, House lead them towards the looming towers of the city skyline. Frank then motioned for the rest of his troops to move out. Without a glance back at House and his soldiers Frank got into his Jeep and headed south following the tanks to fulfil their primary mission.

  A cool breeze filled the deserted city streets. The buildings dwarfed the platoon armed with silencer side arms and M-240 machine guns. House, and his second officer Finn, lead the platoon deep into the city of the dead.

  Finn trod carefully, “Can I speak freely, Sir?” House nodded his consent to his fellow officer and oldest friend. “This is the Tarvos all over again, one bull-crap mission too far, our orders, go to a tower block in the middle of this city to rescue some politician that no one even cares about; how many friends must we lose for one suit?”

  “Personally...” he sniffed, he was coming down with a cold. “ I agree with you, but Huck it’s the job we’ve chosen, this is what we do.”

  House’s bulky mass shivered as his fever sweat caught the cool breeze. With a glancing look, one dark brown eye looked Finn up and down. House was worried, realising Finn had changed somehow these last few days, shaken and stirred like a vodka martini.

  Finn lowered his gun, “Yeah, but that was before, when the dead stayed dead, it freaks me out House, sir, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. My daughter coming back crawls under my skin, it haunts me, I close my eyes and she’s there. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  House tapped Finn’s helmet with his hand. “The job Finn is the job. The mission is real. Stay alert.”

  House raised his gun to Finns head. Finn froze, his eyes wide and fearful, all his training forgotten, he was a rabbit caught in House’s headlights. House is going to kill me! He panicked. House let off a shot. Finns knees wavered, as he was slow to realise that House had executed one of the walking empty souls that ambled nearby and not shot at him. The grey, drained corpse collapsed on its self like a concertina. Finn rested his hands on his knees, relieved and unable to speak. House continued to walk on as Finn drawing deep breaths managed to compose himself, as his fellow soldiers helped him along avoiding the pile of skin, bone, and tattered clothes that lay on the floor.

  No amount of today’s science could determine why the dead had risen and studies could not explain why they did not stay dead. The dead were in search of nourishment required to keep those small parts, the core of the brain and nerve system powered and in some cases regenerated. Many of the dead had organs missing: heart; lungs; uterus; liver; kidney; pancreas and stomach. All of the dead that could be mobile were mobile. With an amplified unexplained electric surge even the ancient bodies buried in ice on mountains began to stir in their glassy graves. Non-embalmed Mummies, bodies in funeral homes, hospital morgues all regained some form of life. Some of the dead were without eyes, some without mouths, and others with noses missing. The dead seemed to have a new sense that enabled them to seek out the living, something that modern science could not explain but still the cities of the dead stirred to life once more.

  A clock towers’ chime broke the night’s silence, signalling dinnertime. In the light drizzle, caught by some flickering streetlights, muffled shots broke out in all directions. The undead heavily outnumbered the platoons. Like a shark replacing its teeth, for every dead person that was gunned down another seemed to appear in its place, the dead looked as if they were unstoppable.

  As hordes of the dead closed in, hand-to-hand combat become ineffective and before long, the soldiers were screaming out in pain as their camouflage suits were bitten into, their flesh and arteries torn. Muffled sounds of the dead were drowned out by the piercing cries of the dying men.

  One officer took the liberty of ending his and his fellow soldiers’ lives by shooting at an overturned multi car transporter. It contained many of the latest models of sport cars at one time destined to be driven, but now with nowhere to go it seemed the most appropriate use for the expensive machines. As the fuel tanks of the cars began to explode the cars parked on the street were torn apart in turn. The remaining six soldiers including House and Finn were blown off balance by the blasts, as wheels, glass and metal scattered in the warming air. The screams silenced as the debris settled on the street.

  House found himself embedded in an abandoned car and he removed his light body armour to release himself. Hearing cries of pain, he looked across the street to see burning men walked blindly, their clothes and flesh awash with flames. It was difficult to distinguish the dead smouldering corpses from his men; House had lost friends throughout the years, but not so many in such a short time.

  Parish, stood injured with his back to Finn. Finn blinded in one eye by a deep gash across his face, walked towards Parish to assist him. As Finn turned his fellow soldier around, the soldier lunged forwards attacking him. Finn leaped back, he reached for his gun but it had been lost in the blast. Finn kicked Parish backwards impaling him on some twisted metal debris. The soldier tried to grasp and grab Finn with his gnarled hands. House appearing behind Finn ended Parish’s’ hunger with a few shots to the head and his body slid further down the protruding scorched metal. House’s arm ached, shaking his limbs loose, he bent down and scooped up a handgun from the floor and slapped it in Finn’s hand.

  “This is a rescue mission? It looks like we’re the ones needing rescuing, and no air support?” babbled Finn.

  “This person better be worth it. Finn keep it together,” spat House, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  They both picked off the remaining dead in the surrounding area as they made their way to the lobby of the thirties style hotel; their mission’s destination.

  House and Finn jammed the revolving glass doors closed, their footsteps echoed as they dashed across the hotels lavishly decorated lobby. The dead slammed their bodies noisily against the glass behind them.

  The muffled sounds of moaning and thumps could be heard as far as the as the lift area and the emergency stairwell. With only the backup generator lights and small mounted lights on their guns, House and Finn ascended the emergency stairs.

  Outside the hotel what remained of a once white, fast food van continued to burn in the street fires, bottles of gas bursting violently, obliterating what remained of the van.

  House and Finn felt the blast as they approached the first floor of the hotel. The two men could unmistakably hear the shattering and fracturing of glass a
nd knew in an instant that the doors and windows of the hotel had given out.

  The hoards of their zombiefied pursuers entered the building shuffling and dragging their feet across the marble floor.

  “Stop right there! Nobody move!” A large bearded man stood in a black and white uniform at the top of the stairs with a carbon steel barrel pointed at the two soldiers. “You let them in, this is my building and you let them in! You stupid mother...” he yelled.

  “Calm down, lower the i-Bolt!” Finn interrupted bluntly, “In two minutes your dead granddaddy is going to be chewing on us, now let us pass!” he yelled pointing back down the stairs.

  The man, sweating and shaking, rested his finger on the trigger and shot Finn in the shoulder, making him fall backwards down several step. House let off four shots sending the bearded man through the air, his torn white shirt turned red as he hit the metal floor.

  “Where are these fools getting their guns? You okay dude?” asked House, staring at the empty spot where the porter once stood.

  “Cut face, shot shoulder, I'll live for now but our party guests have arrived, move!”

  Finn raised his voice, as he brushed past House on the stairs.

  The living dead, in all different stages of decomposition filled the stairwell of the hotel. Ravenous, a number of them stopped and chewed on the dead bearded man, their teeth chattered as they spilled his intestines down the stairs. Soon the devoured porter sat up then followed his dead brood after the two soldiers who were making their way through the building.

  House and Finn stood on the stairwell in front of a blood stained metal door. A blonde agent in a black soiled suit was slumped dead against it, her own life taken with her revolver. Finn knelt down and took a note from here hand, her suicide note signed Emmanuelle Judge. ‘Judge Dead’, he thought.

  With his gun in one hand, Finn held an Iridium satellite phone to his ear, surprised it still worked.

  “I can’t get hold of the team. Why is there a coded lock?” Finn panted as he tried the door.

  Finn fired his gun at the menacing dead who were dangerously closing in.

  “It's the Penthouse. I can't think, I can't remember the brief, I can't remember the door code!” House snatched the phone from Finn.

  “Major, control, where the hell are you!” he shouted down the phone.

  “Blow it open!” Finn shouted. “Those party crashers are nearly here!”

  “I got it... one, three...” mumbled House, he typed frantically on a mounted keypad next to the door. “It isn’t working, they've changed the code or the Intel' is incorrect,” House shouted as he punched at the door.

  Finn yelled instructions down the phone in between House’s bangs and echoing shots.

  “We need a chopper - roof extraction point ASAP, ac2 extraction mission complete, person acquired,” lied Finn, “Immediate evac’, over.”

  The dead were advancing up the stairs and were nearly upon the two men.

  House shot his way through the door lock, yanking the metal door open he kicked open the wooden inner door. They both began to barricade the door behind them as best as they could. House wedged a sideboard and chairs into the expensive door.

  Finn walked through a darkened corridor decorated with elaborate patterned wallpaper. Numerous paintings were displayed from the white picture rails. The lavish corridor opened up into a spacious, open plan, airy Penthouse. As Finn took in the huge square space of the red-carpeted room, House reinforced the door as securely as possible.

  The open plan room was empty and silent. Situated to the left were leather chairs. Mounted on the wall was a hulking TV screen that eerily displayed static. Nearby a computer screen flickered with an aquarium screensaver, ‘Mozart's Requiem’ subtly played through several speakers. Finn, stinking of smoke, thought about how his boots were dirtying the pristine red carpet. As he quietly crossed the room, his attention was drawn to the large sunken Jacuzzi to the right side of the room.

  The partially glazed roof and floor to ceiling windows hung over him. He glanced out at the smoking city before standing over the sunken hot tub and lowering his gun. A naked woman lay in the bath, her wrists gaped open, her long hair and the water was as red as the crimson carpet.

  “Come in Seed Two,” Finn jumped, startled at the satellite communication phones speaker. House joined Finn looking over his shoulder.

  “It’s not going to hold soldier,” House shook his head. “Target is dead, a shame and waste.”

  “Roof extraction point, ac2 extraction and mission complete,” Finn gave a sigh.

  “Ac2 extraction code word, over,” crackled a calm voice.

  “Target dead, over,” confirmed Finn as he leaned over the familiar looking woman, casting a sorrowful glance at her wounds, the music seemed to get louder, “Holy shit House, it’s the Vice President, Crafton, Sue Crafton.”

  The naked woman’s green eyes suddenly snapped open. She leaped up biting into Finns neck, grinding her teeth as blood pumped from Finns flapping skin.

  Swiftly, House shot the naked woman. Hunched and holding his latest wound Finn looked up to House raising his hand in submission. Before Finn could speak, House shot, the bullet went straight though his hand, eye then lodged in his brain. The projectile force sent his long-time friend following the once Vice President splashing into the bloodied cold water.

  “Damn you!” He spat at the dead woman, “you were the last hope.”

  House could hear the dead breaking through the door; he retrieved the phone from Finns corpse and headed towards the black metal fire escape that lead to the roof. Another coded door stood in his way. House managed to kick it open and desperately he made his way onto the roof, the cool air hitting him. A helicopter hovered between the skyscrapers in the distance.

  It was only House, the sky and the phone. House took in his surroundings. He yelled down the phone’s receiver. “NO TIME FOR CODE WORDS AND FUCKING ACRONYMS! Control, Hardy, Major!”

  “Mission failed code not recovered.”

  House listened hard to the voice not sure if it was Hardy as it was muffled by the shuffling dead as they stumbled onto the roof.

  “The extraction has been compromised,” stated the voice.

  “Major, I know you’re listening, after all we've been through Major? Marshal, Frank?”

  The phone was silent. The gathering remorseless-eating-machines grouped closer to House. House was out of bullets, out of time and out of luck. He looked up at the oncoming helicopter. House gripped the phone tightly. House knew, as Frank knew, seventy-seven was lost with her last breath.

  “Frank, I know you can hear me. I hope you can still hear me. Are you on that chopper? I did this for my country. Just do me two things, don’t let Hardy report it happened like this and tell my wife I love her,” looked intently at the hovering helicopter.

  The phone remained silent. House turned and launched the phone at foul smelling crowd as they surrounded him like pack of hungry dogs. One face stood out. A voluptuous, curly haired brunette, with perfect make-up; she looked almost alive, only the veins in her arms and legs gave her away.

  The cool night sky was disrupted as the roof of the building burst into a wondrous explosive display that could be seen between the other buildings for miles around.

  Under Frank’s instruction House, the dead and the top of the building were obliterated, destroyed by the rain of DAP helicopters arsenal, the very same one that had rescued him from deck of the Tarvos.

  PART THREE: ALLIANCES

  Jack wiped tears from his eyes having just left his best friend Tim for dead. They were the same age and had grown up together. After Tim postponed his wedding to Katie, Jack’s best-man role went on hold and as part-time soldiers they joined the thousands of others when the outbreak turned into a pandemic.

  Their first mission straight out of a brief training programme was a ‘Kill 204’ mission to test a new genetic weapon, a mix of cytotoxic proteins that affected the dead, Test 72 which was a com
plete failure most were killed frozen in fear unable to move. However, on their fifth mission to field test ‘seventy-seven’ they were unrecognisable, shells of their former selves. Although they lost two rookies they returned to their military base facility accompanied by three other defence personnel. Dust kicked up as they headed towards the security doors, which were already open and they immediately knew something was wrong. Bodies lay scattered around the sealed inner security doors.

  Un-fresh in their worn army gear, Jack and Tim stood guard at the security gate, their adrenalin pumping, while two of the defence soldiers opened the inner security doors.

  As the heavy doors creaked opened, a sudden rush of bodies came out clutching at the two soldiers. The female solider didn’t have time to fire her gun. Horrifically and like a documentary on animal predators, she was ripped apart, still screaming, she was eaten alive.

  The other soldier fired in all directions as the bodies yanked and gnawed at him. Two of his projectiles slammed into Tim’s chest and abdomen. The puncher wounds and trauma stopped his breathing as he slumped to the floor. The third soldier almost numb with fear fumbled with a spherical shaped M68 grenade. His hands, refusing to follow the commands that his brain was sending them, were useless and he dropped it sending it rolling into a trench drain, in trying to retrieve the wayward grenade the soldier was attacked from all angles from the dead assailants.

  Jack dragged Tim away from the slopping entrance, wiping matter that had exploded only minutes earlier from his brow. Shifting his boots Jack pulled Tim to his feet and helped him into the MAK jeep. They sped off away from the military laboratory bunker base, obviously now another home of the dead.

  Dust filled the air as they drove past some deserted camps, past a convoy of people, catching glimpse of ruthless thugs stealing at gunpoint. Many of these gangs had sprung up from the mess. In a lawless land, everyone was out for themselves.