The Longest Midnight: A Zombie Novel

by J. J. Fowler

  The communications officer replaced his headset and relayed Tarte’s approval.

  Dagos appeared at Tarte’s side. When the fighting started, he sat quietly in the back smoking a cigarette. Now that the attack had progressed, he felt compelled to speak to the colonel.

  “Sir, don’t you think we could use their help?”

  “We’ll be fine, Dagos,” the colonel replied without even looking at his second-in-command. “This base will hold.”

  “May I ask you a question, sir?”

  “No. You know what you have to do,” Tarte said sternly.

  Dagos took a drag on his cigarette and stepped quietly back into the shadows.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Drake’s team made their way through the ruins with Drake on point, despite Mifune’s stern objections. Drake paused, stuck his head slightly forward as if smelling for enemy troops in the area, and motioned for his men to crouch. In the distance, the gunfire and explosions from the battle echoed quietly around them. Drake pulled night vision goggles over his eyes and peered around. He sensed something, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he had a feeling, a feeling they were close.

  Drake gestured for his men to stay still. He then cautiously made his way atop a small pile of twisted metal and broken concrete. In front of him, perhaps twenty-five meters away, Drake spied a corpse slumped over the wreckage of a charred and hollowed-out car. It was a soldier, freshly dead, mostly likely a man who served at Alpha.

  Drake waited.

  After several minutes, nothing happened, and Drake sighed, as if annoyed there wasn’t something for him to kill. Then he heard it—a growl. Then a louder growl followed by a long moan. Finally, they appeared. Two unarmed zombies came into view, moving sluggishly toward the dead soldier in order to feed.

  Drake pulled out his pistol, put a silencer on it, and took aim at the creatures as they began to feed. After he fired, one of the deaders collapsed to the ground. The other looked around in confusion until it spotted Drake atop the small pile of rubble. It roared and showed its decaying teeth in the dim light of the Longest Midnight. Drake took the second shot and sent the beast back to hell.

  * * *

  Drake sat on a broken piece of concrete as his men examined the area for other deaders. He didn’t want them proceeding without making certain there weren’t any other surprises in the immediate vicinity. Where there was one zombie, there were often more, as they were known to move in packs.

  Murphy stepped around the three corpses and examined each one carefully.

  “I wonder what they were like,” Murphy said loudly enough for Drake to hear.

  Drake stood up and tossed his cigarette away. “Who cares?”

  “They were people once.”

  “They’re deaders. That’s it.”

  Murphy noticed the deceased soldier’s head was intact. “The soldier’s head…”

  “I know,” Drake replied.

  “Are you going to shoot him?”

  “No. You are.”

  Murphy appeared distressed.

  “What’s wrong?” Drake said.

  “I did that to Tram. He begged me.”

  Drake pulled out his pistol and handed it to the newbie. “You got to get used to it, kid.” Just then, the dead soldier twitched. It was coming alive. “Fire,” Drake ordered.

  Murphy took aim at its head.

  “Fire, now!” Drake said louder.

  The zombie turned its head toward them and stared into Murphy’s eyes. Murphy felt mesmerized by those dead eyes looking at him. He had never been so close to a zombie before, never seen their eyes up close. They were horrifying. The eyes bloodshot, irises red and slightly glowing, were as intoxicating as they were frightening.

  “Shoot!” Drake yelled.

  Murphy closed his eyes and fired. The bullet hit the deader in the neck, barely making the creature flinch. The zombie lurched at Murphy, and before it could grab him, a machete suddenly came crashing down on its hands, slicing them in two.

  “Finish it!” Drake roared and put his machete back into its sheath.

  Murphy blinked hard, collected himself, and emptied the entire clip into the deader’s face.

  * * *

  Mifune tossed another piece of wood on the fire. He leaned back and focused on the large ceiling above him. They were in a warehouse with only one entrance. Francis was ordered to take first shift guarding the entrance while the rest of the men slept, but Mifune couldn’t sleep, and neither could the rest of the men.

  “You did good out there today,” Casey said to Murphy. “It wasn’t easy the first time I needed to kill a fresh turner. Different than killing Tram. Right? After all, he hadn’t turned yet. Kinda scary when they get that close with those red glowing eyes. Right?”

  Murphy looked down at his crotch, which was still wet from him urinating in his pants.

  “Pissing yourself isn’t a big deal. I’ve done that plenty of times. The worst is when you shit yourself.”

  Casey lit a cigar and took a few puffs. Unlike most of the men at Alpha, Casey preferred cigars to cigarettes. He enjoyed cigarettes, of course, but figured cigars made him appear more sophisticated and intelligent.

  “Hey, Sergeant,” Casey said to Mifune. “You ever shit yourself?”

  “Yep. When I was a kid.”

  “Nah. I mean from deaders.”

  Mifune shook his head.

  “Hey, Captain—how about you?”

  Drake wasn’t paying attention. He was studying the lousy map Tarte had given him in order to obtain a rough estimate of where the zombies may be congregating in some sort of base or camp.

  “Hey, Captain!”

  “Shut the fuck up, Casey,” Drake replied without even looking up from the map.

  “Ah, hell. You’re no fun.”

  “Casey, you best get some sleep there,” Mifune told him. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  “A long day of what? Walking around trying to commit suicide with me shouldering the goddamn flamethrower?”

  Now, Drake was annoyed. “Casey, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

  “Only when I’m scared,” he said earnestly.

  The only response to Casey’s reply was the relentless snapping of the fire, a fire revealing the sullen faces of Drake and his men. No one would sleep that night, but neither would they speak. They simply sat quietly listening to the fire, waiting their turns to stand guard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chosin hoped this was the last time he’d have to tell his master the same, sad news. “Master?”

  Vlad was drinking a vial of pig blood with his back to Chosin when his underling spoke. Vlad and several other vampires carefully tracked Drake’s team in an attempt to determine what they were up to, and whether or not they should intervene again if it appeared necessary.

  “Speak,” Vlad said with his back still to Chosin. He could already feel the energy from the pig’s blood surging through him and it made him feel at ease.

  “Tolbert is dying.”

  Vlad turned around, the serenity from the pig blood overwhelmed by sudden anxiety.

  “Why?”

  “He fed on one of the dead.”

  Vlad smashed the empty vial against the charred wall of the ruins they took shelter in. “I ordered no one feed on them! We have enough pig blood to sustain us!”

  Chosin cleared his throat and carefully considered his next words.

  “They are weak from pig blood. The pig blood gives such little sustenance. We must feed.”

  Vlad calmed himself. He knew his people were weak, but he also knew they had no other choice. Humans were dying off. The best temporary solution was to feed on the pigs they bred. “Take me to him.”

  * * *

  Tolbert was lying on the ground next to a small fire. Styria, a female vampire and Tolbert’s wife, had insisted she join her husband on this mission. She sat next to him, holding his hand.

  Vlad kneeled next to Tolbert. His face, no
rmally pale and vibrant, was darkening quickly as the final death began to take hold.

  “Why did you disobey me?” Vlad said to the dying vampire.

  Tolbert looked at his master. He thought of the many battles against the zombies he once fought with Vlad. He felt ashamed, like a traitor.

  “I’m weak. Couldn’t stop myself from tearing into one,” Tolbert said softly. “She appeared so fresh. I fell to temptation.”

  “And why didn’t you stop him?” Vlad said to the beautiful Styria, whose long brown hair covered her mournful eyes.

  “I failed,” she said quietly.

  “Yes. You did.” Vlad turned to Chosin and nodded his head.

  Chosin pulled a wooden stake from beneath his brown cloak and stepped forward.

  Styria hissed at him.

  “It must be done,” Vlad said. “If we do not end it now, you know what happens when he dies.”

  Styria pushed her hair back. Her eyes showed her rage, sorrow, and confusion. Vlad immediately knew what she intended to do.

  In a quick burst, Vlad leapt over Tolbert’s dying body and tackled Styria. His overwhelming strength easily pinned the hissing and screeching female vampire to the ground.

  “Now end him!” Vlad ordered to Chosin.

  Chosin knelt down next to Tolbert and raised the wooden stake. Tolbert looked at him and wearily gave his approval. Chosin thrust the stake into Tolbert’s heart as his wife’s screams echoed around them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mifune decided to risk it. He turned on his flashlight while holding a pistol just below it. He was exploring a still standing, yet slowly crumbling skyscraper from a bygone era, an era long faded from human memory. Drake felt it necessary to explore it to see if it was possible from a higher floor to have a look around the surrounding area. The trouble for Mifune, who volunteered to scope it out, was every step in the dark, moist, and decaying building could be his last.

  Drake originally planned to send Francis with Mifune into the building until Mifune insisted he go alone, as he always did when exploring a building. He felt another man would simply double his worries and double the noise and double the chances of death. Drake argued a building of this size required two men. Yet in the end, he relented to Mifune, a man with far more experience than most in this sort of dangerous work.

  Mifune felt a sneeze coming on from the dusty air and squeezed his nose as he panned the flashlight around the ground floor. Thankfully, for him, he kept himself from sneezing.

  As his flashlight moved slowly around the room, he saw toppled tables, chairs, and papers gently moving around in the breeze from the multiple broken windows.

  Finally, he saw what he was looking for: the stairwell.

  He walked quietly toward it, taking it one step at a time while listening carefully for the familiar moan or growls of a deader. He heard nothing except the gentle whine of the wind blowing through the aged skyscraper.

  When he reached the entrance to the stairwell, he tilted the flashlight up. The stairs appeared largely intact, much to Mifune’s surprise. He sighed, knowing there were many floors he must climb before radioing Drake the all clear. He needed a smoke to relax before making the potentially arduous trip upstairs and searched for his cigarettes, but couldn’t find any.

  Damn it, he said to himself. The one time I want to smoke I drop them. Maybe they’re around here?

  The wind howled fiercely outside. As it swept into the stairwell, the sound was nearly deafening. Mifune ignored the wind and continued his search for his cigarettes. Much to his frustration, his flashlight only illuminated chunks of torn concrete, glass, and papers flying all around. His cigarettes were gone. Oh well, he thought, I can still bum some off the guys.

  He chuckled to himself and tilted the flashlight up to begin heading up the stairs, but the light suddenly revealed five zombies shuffling down the stairs toward him.

  He reacted instinctively from years of battling these creatures and fired aimed shots at the heads of them with his silenced pistol. When he pulled the trigger to kill the fourth one, the gun jammed.

  “Shit!” he whispered.

  He tossed the gun aside and pulled out his machete and waited for the last two deaders to come to him. Then a shot rang out. It echoed throughout the stairwell, and made Mifune’s ears ring in agony. He felt a stinging pain in his right shoulder and realized he was shot. The flashlight dropped out of his hands and broke on the concrete floor. Now there was nothing but darkness, wind, and the moan of hungry deaders.

  He frantically slashed the machete in the darkness without making any contact. There was an instant flash of light as one of the zombies fired at him again and narrowly missed his head. The brief moment of light from the fired weapon gave Mifune the approximate position of the last two zombies. He took a chance and jumped forward into the darkness and brought the machete crashing down in front him.

  He made contact. A zombie cried out as his blade sunk into its head.

  Another shot exploded and missed him by a wide margin. Once again, the shot revealed the position of the armed zombie. He lifted the machete over his head and threw it in the ghoul’s direction. He heard a piercing cry and then a thumping sound as the deader collapsed to the ground.

  * * *

  Drake and the others were in defensive positions outside the dying skyscraper when they heard the gunshots. The men appeared concerned, but none more so than the rookie Murphy.

  “Is he okay? Shouldn’t we go help?” Murphy said.

  “Hell no!” replied Casey. “Could be a trap.”

  “Casey’s right,” said Drake. “I’ve seen entire platoons wiped out charging into buildings in these situations. It’s best to wait it out.”

  “I don’t like this,” said Murphy.

  “None of us do,” replied Drake. “Casey, you got that whiskey on you? I’m out.”

  Casey nodded.

  “Toss it to me.”

  “Ah, come on, Captain. That’s all I got for the suicide run.”

  “Toss it.”

  Casey grudgingly obeyed, and Drake took a nice long swig.

  “You want one, Private?” Drake said to Murphy.

  Murphy shook his head and said, “I don’t drink.”

  Francis laughed.

  “The kid don’t drink. Jesus, kid. We all drink in this shit. It’s the only way to stay sane.”

  “Who’s Jesus?” replied Murphy sincerely.

  “No one. He’s dead,” said Drake as he took another hit of the whiskey.

  Casey’s radio buzzed to life.

  “Charlie to Alpha, Charlie to Alpha, respond,” it crackled.

  Casey happily grabbed it.

  “This is Alpha. How’s Charlie?”

  “Fine, fine. Had a bit of a run in, but it’s all clear to the fifteenth floor. Impossible to go higher. Too much debris. Over.”

  “Tell him we’re coming up,” said Drake.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Francis stood alone, shivering on the first floor of the dying skyscraper. He was stuck on watch yet again, a job he felt he got more than any of the other men. He didn’t mind it so much because he relished the quiet that watch duty afforded him. He loved the peace. He loved listening to the sounds around him and thinking of happier times.

  He leaned back against a crumpled pillar and yawned. He checked his watch and noticed he was in his last hour of guard duty.

  Over the rustling wind, he heard footsteps behind him. He spun around, flashlight and gun ready, and found the source of the footsteps: a female deader. He tilted the flashlight up to the deader’s face and was shocked to discover she was beautiful—stunningly gorgeous, with bright, pale blue eyes, high, pronounced cheekbones, and swirling black hair which gently moved in the wind. She was clothed in tight jeans and a white tank top. In fact, the only indication she was even dead was a large bite mark on her shoulder. Clearly, she was freshly dead. The classic markings of deaders with their red eyes and decaying skin were absent on her.r />
  Francis was mesmerized. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to blow her back to hell, but this was different. This zombie appeared so alive, so entrancing, and so harmless to him. The last time Francis slept with a woman was months ago. He was curiously aroused by this deader.

  * * *

  Mifune nudged Murphy out of his sleep. The fire was out, and Murphy was frigid in the windowless room towering high above the urban ruins. “Your time for watch,” Mifune whispered. Murphy coughed and rubbed his eyes. “Have you slept yet, Sergeant?”

  “Yeah, some; but I don’t sleep much these days.” Murphy’s vision came back into focus. He saw Casey and Drake fast asleep.

  Mifune looked at them, too. “I don’t know how they do it,” Mifune said aloud. “But they do.” Casey farted in his sleep and Mifune and Murphy chuckled. “Crazy bastard. Isn’t he?” Mifune said.

  “Yes, sir. He is,” replied Murphy.

  “But I love the bugger. I love ’em all. That’s my problem.” Murphy didn’t know how to respond, so he kept quiet. Mifune slapped his shoulder. “All right, kid. Get your gear and relieve Francis.”

  Murphy nodded. “Do you need me to change the dressing on your shoulder, sir?”

  “No. It’s not bad. Just a minor wound.”

  * * *

  Murphy reached the bottom of the staircase where Mifune’s destroyed zombies lay sprawled about. Gore and brain matter was all over the floor. He carefully walked the last few steps for fear of slipping in the blood. At the bottom of the stairwell, he heard a faint moaning, not the familiar mournful wails of a zombie, but rather, a far more pleasurable and excited moan.

  Murphy paused, lifted his M-16, and switched on the flashlight attached to it.

  He stepped out cautiously toward the origins of the noise. The moaning grew louder as he crept through the darkness, and he detected a disturbingly sexual ring to it.

  Then he saw it—a female zombie with a rope tied around its mouth and one around its arms bent over a broken desk as Francis had sex with it. Francis didn’t notice Murphy’s flashlight shining directly on the pair, but the deader did. She turned her head toward him and growled through the rope around her mouth.