The Longest Midnight: A Zombie Novel

by J. J. Fowler

  The creaking steel door swung open and several guards walked down the corridor. Their heavy black boots splashed sewage with each step. They stopped before Victor’s cell, quickly opened it, and roughly pulled him out. They clasped handcuffs on him and marched him toward the exit. Victor looked over his shoulder and yelled out, “See you on the other side, friend James Dagos.”

  Dagos said nothing in reply. He stood there impotently grasping his bars, staring into nothing. There was little he could do but await his own death. Behind Dagos, the corpse in his cell stirred to life and his fear became a reality. The body was reanimating and the veteran soldier carried nothing with which to destroy it.

  He continued to face away from the deader, hoping his seeming ignorance of the threat would buy him more time. He considered his options. The only one that made sense was to knock it to the ground, hope it didn’t get any blood in his mouth, eyes, or ears, and then crush its head with his boots. The new zombie shuffled slowly toward Dagos’ back until, at the last second, the soldier spun around and slammed it in the face with his fist. The blow sent the deader reeling backward. Dagos followed the punch by sweeping the deader off its feet with a firm kick. The deader crashed onto the hard, concrete floor.

  Dagos towered over it for a moment and considered how he arrived as a prisoner in a hellhole filled with deaders. He thought of his privileged youth in the city, his commission, his wife, his son, his service in countless battles, and finally, his mission to track Drake. The mission to track Drake was a catastrophe, and likely his last. His men were surrounded, shot to death, or eaten by deaders shortly after following Drake into the Dead Mountains. Dagos survived somehow, only to get captured by humans who brought him to this dungeon.

  Dagos spat his disgust. If this is how it ends, he thought, I’m going to at least take one more of you deaders with me. He crushed the zombie’s skull with one furious stomp.

  Chapter Thirty

  Shit, Casey thought. I’m literally in a river of shit. I knew I’d seen and smelled and done disgusting things in the Army, but wading through feces? Who the hell thought I’d end up lost in the land of the dead doing this? But here I am.

  The sewer was only three meters tall and four meters wide. There was little light inside it save for the occasional flickering fluorescent lights from above, so the men used their flashlights to give them some illumination. The vampires, meanwhile, needed nothing except their eyes, which could spot a single flake of dust falling on the blackest of nights.

  “Don’t get any of this in your mouths,” Drake said. “This shit could be mixed with the infection.”

  “What about our pores?” Murphy inquired earnestly.

  “Shut up,” Drake replied. “You can’t get it through your pores.”

  Casey worried there were deaders lurking below the filthy sewage waters. His fears grew so great he tripped and fell head first into the sewage. The team stopped immediately until he burst out of the brown and crusty waters, spitting a stream of sewage from his mouth.

  “Dammit, Casey. Can you not follow orders?” Drake fumed.

  “Sir, what if they’re under us?” Casey said with shit-colored water streaming out of his mouth.

  “They won’t be. Water terrifies them,” Vlad interjected.

  “Yes,” Chosin agreed. “We have seen them stand idle before a simple stream.”

  Drake turned to Chosin and said, “He knew that. He’s just not thinking straight.”

  Casey nodded meekly and they continued through the murky waters.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before they reached the end of the sewer. There was a small hole above where the sewage dropped down, far too tiny for any man to fit through. The men were silent as Drake moved his flashlight around trying to find some sort of entrance. He found nothing.

  Casey almost felt relieved as he stood back in the darkness, his flashlight turned off to conserve batteries. Maybe we’ll turn back? he hoped. Then humiliation crept in when he realized what a coward he was deep down.

  He flipped on his flashlight and searched along with the others for a way to continue their mission. He found it behind a thick layer of moss and other vegetation, which thrived in these sordid conditions: a rusted iron entrance just large enough for a man to fit through. “Sir, I’ve found something.”

  The men and vampires gathered quickly around him. “It definitely goes somewhere,” Drake said. He reached up and tried to turn the wheel to unlock it, but he didn’t have the strength to do so. No human would.

  Chosin stepped forward and said, “Let me try.”

  Drake moved away and watched the powerful vampire turn the wheel quite easily and unlock the hatch above them. Drake shined his flashlight into the opening and saw nothing. “Help me up there,” he said to Chosin. The ancient vampire agreed.

  “Wait, sir. Let me go,” Casey interposed.

  Drake peered at him in the darkness and wondered why he wanted to go first. It was not in Casey’s nature, despite his value as a soldier, to volunteer for risky endeavors.

  “Why?”

  He moved closer to Drake and whispered, “Please, sir.”

  “All right. Chosin, help him up.” Casey attached his flashlight to his helmet and Chosin picked him up.

  “Remember,” Drake told Casey, “no firing up there. They might hear us.” Casey tapped his flamethrower pack and smiled in the lightly illuminated sewer. Drake saw his bright, shiny teeth quite clearly.

  “The only sound this puppy will make is the roasting flesh of a deader.”

  “I will be behind you,” Chosin said to Casey.

  “I sure hope you are, pal. Now lift me up.” Chosin pushed him up into the darkness and Casey was out of sight.

  The group waited anxiously for several moments until Casey’s head appeared with his characteristic shit-eating grin. “There’s nothing up here. Come on,” he said.

  When Casey turned his head to look down the small tunnel, he revealed with his flashlight a completely naked fat deader only a few feet from him. The deader’s face was rotting and covered with worms and insects living off its decaying flesh. There was a rusty knife sticking out of the creature’s neck, probably thrust into it by one of its victims ages ago.

  “Fuck!” Casey screamed as the fat creature lunged at him and took a large bite out of his shoulder. The deader paused momentarily to chew on Casey’s warm flesh, which gave the soldier a moment to push the bloated ghoul away. Chosin leapt through the hatch opening and pushed Casey aside to rip off the zombie’s head and throw it down the tunnel. He turned to Casey and saw the gaping wound in his shoulder. The scent of warm blood made his fangs erect in lust, yet he resisted his natural urge to feed. Casey was not food to him. Casey was his friend.

  “Get out of the way, Chosin!” Casey yelled. Chosin spun around and saw half-a-dozen deaders less than a couple meters from them. He jumped to the side and let Casey’s flamethrower spew its deadly fire onto the zombies. They thrashed, moaned, and wailed when the flames enveloped their rotting bodies. When it was over, all one could hear was the flesh of the deaders crackling and bursting from the still-burning bodies.

  * * *

  Vlad and Murphy stood guard as Drake, Mifune, and Chosin looked upon the severely wounded Casey. Mifune bandaged him up, but they all knew this was the end for Casey. Casey, oddly enough, appeared calm, even serene.

  “How bad is it?” Drake asked Mifune, full well knowing the answer. Mifune sighed.

  “Sir, you know I’m fucked,” Casey said with a chuckle.

  Drake swore to himself.

  “I’m kind of glad about this,” Casey continued.

  “Why?” Chosin asked him.

  “Because, my undead friend, I was terrified of those bastards.” Casey laughed again. “Now I don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not just of them, but of anything. Any of you fuckers got a smoke?”

  Murphy put a cigarette in Casey’s mouth and lit it for him. Then he said, “Is there nothing we can do?”<
br />
  “You know there isn’t, kid,” Drake said to him.

  Mifune heard enough. Emotions raced through him rapidly. He couldn’t handle watching Casey die. So, he stood up, and simply walked away. Casey didn’t notice his sergeant leave. The virus surging through his bloodstream made him increasingly dizzy and delusional. Despite this, he still possessed the clarity to know what must be done.

  “Sir,” he said to Drake. “Give me your pistol.”

  Drake shook his head. “I can’t. Other deaders may hear it.”

  Chosin pulled out the dagger he forged himself many centuries ago. “Captain Drake, I believe I can end his life quickly and painlessly.”

  “Casey?” Drake said to his dying trooper.

  “Yes, sir. Let Chosin do it.”

  “Goodbye, soldier,” Drake said to his dying trooper with a long and mournful sigh.

  Chosin kneeled before Casey and held the tip of the dagger toward his forehead. “End it,” Casey said as he coughed up blood. Chosin closed his eyes and bore his fangs. With one quick, powerful thrust, the dagger penetrated Casey’s brain. It was over.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The door to Dagos’ cell swung open and two heavily armed guards entered it. Dagos was sitting in the corner as they came in. He considered lunging at them, but knew he was a dead man anyway. No, he thought. I want to meet this Harbinger fellow and give him a piece of my mind.

  “Get up,” one of the guards dressed in a black uniform with white stripes down the pants and sleeves said. He aimed his carbine at Dagos’ head.

  Dagos cleared his throat and stood up. “Any of you smoke?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Figures,” Dagos said.

  “It’s time,” replied one of the guards.

  “It is indeed,” Dagos said sarcastically.

  The guards led Dagos out of his cell, down the long corridor of the dungeon. They unlocked the steel door to the prison and led their captive out.

  As the guards finished locking the steel door behind them, a sewer lid in front of Dagos’ former cell slowly lifted off the ground. A deathly pale hand quietly slid it to the side. Chosin peered over the top and noticed he was in a detention center of some sort. He didn’t spot any guards, so he pulled himself out of the sewer.

  Seconds later, Drake emerged behind him, pointing his weapon down the corridor. Both of them were covered in sewage, filth, and muck from their arduous journey through the deadly sewer.

  The cells appeared empty to Drake and Chosin as they walked cautiously down the poorly lit corridor. Yet a moment later, the bars of the seemingly empty cells were grabbed by dozens of hands attached to decrepit, starving human faces with eyes more dead than a zombie’s. The conditions were shocking even to Drake: dead rats sprinkled all over the floor, severed body parts, pools of blood, and a smell so foul Drake felt vomit pushing its way up his throat. “What is this?” Drake whispered.

  “Food,” Chosin replied.

  Behind them, Mifune and Murphy stood in complete shock. Vlad, however, was missing. Drake immediately noticed his absence. “Where’s Vlad?” he said.

  The other three looked around in puzzlement. Murphy even peered down into the sewer with his flashlight, but didn’t see him. Drake frowned and stared angrily at Chosin. “Where’s your boss?”

  Chosin was confused. He genuinely didn’t know where his master went. “I do not know.”

  “You know,” Mifune said. “What are you two bastards up to?”

  “Shut it,” Drake said to Mifune. He glared at Chosin. “I want some fucking answers.”

  Now the prisoners began to moan and wail for help. It became quite clear to the group they couldn’t stay there a moment longer without alerting the guards.

  “Move out,” Drake said. “Sergeant, keep an eye on the vamp.”

  “Will do,” he replied as they ran down the corridor to the locked entrance.

  Murphy reached the door first and tried to pry it open. “It’s locked.”

  “No, it is not,” Chosin replied. He stepped up to the steel door and quite easily pulled it off its hinges and set it aside. Then he looked at Drake and said, “I am not a traitor. I could kill all of you in an instant if I wanted to. If I wanted to betray you, why haven’t I done it?”

  Drake realized he had a point, but this was no time to discuss it. “Come on, let’s go!” Drake ordered, and they hurried down the corridor.

  * * *

  Two guards led Dagos to the giant steel door entrance where the deaders waited beyond it. There were several windows with bars over them and through them. Dagos was surprised to observe human soldiers training the walking dead how to shoot and march in line.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” a voice with a lisp said behind Dagos. Dagos turned around and saw a man with a pockmarked, scarred face wearing a red beret grinning at him. One of the man’s front teeth was missing which gave him the lisp.

  “Harbinger?” Dagos said to him.

  “Commander Harbinger, Lieutenant Colonel Dagos,” said Harbinger with a slight grin. His green uniform was impeccably neat as was the goatee on his forty-something face. It was an understatement to say Harbinger’s tidy appearance was incongruous with a camp populated with deaders and human troopers in worn-out uniforms with long, unkempt beards. Dagos though, wasn’t surprised. He knew the only person who could preside over such an abomination must look like Harbinger. Only a madman would care about appearances in as desolate and lifeless place as this.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Open the door,” Harbinger said to one of his guards. He then focused his attention back to his captive. “How do you think I know your name Lieutenant Colonel Dagos stationed at Forward Operating Base Alpha under the command of Colonel Tarte?”

  Dagos was truly puzzled. How could he possibly know all this about me? The steel door began to creep open vertically. It doesn’t matter. Death will come soon. “I haven’t a clue,” Dagos finally replied.

  “Well,” Harbinger said as he placed a cigar in his mouth, “you should.”

  “How do you get them to obey you?”

  Harbinger lit his cigar and took a hit. “By feeding them.”

  A moment later, one of the guards shoved Dagos out into the camp where the doom hungrily awaited him.

  * * *

  Drake carefully peered around a corner into a large open chamber. A steel door was opened, revealing the camp area. Two shaggy guards flanked the entrance. He leaned back in and looked at Chosin. “Chosin, there’s two of them guarding the entrance to the camp. Can you get them?”

  Chosin smirked.

  “Let me do it,” Mifune said. “I don’t trust the vamp.”

  Chosin flashed his fangs at him. “Do that again and you’ll…”

  “Quiet,” Drake interrupted. “Chosin is doing this.”

  Mifune bit his tongue. He was waiting for Chosin to do anything aggressive toward them so he could pounce on him and drive the small wooden stake he hid on his person into the vampire’s heart.

  Chosin unholstered his AK-47 and handed it to Drake. “It will make noises when I move. Hold it.” Drake took his weapon, and in a blurring blaze, Chosin rounded the corner and tore off both heads of the guards without so much as making a sound. Chosin was already back to Drake before their lifeless corpses thumped onto the concrete floor.

  Drake was amazed. He handed Chosin back his weapon without saying a word.

  “Murphy,” Drake whispered.

  The young soldier leaned forward.

  “Move those bodies away from the entrance so they’re not spotted by anyone outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Murphy sprinted around the corner and quickly pulled the bodies aside. Drake and the rest of the team moved forward and leaned against the wall adjacent to the entrance. Barred windows around them allowed the intruders to see what was going on outside.

  “Sergeant,” Drake said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Two
corridors led to the main chamber they were in. They needed coverage in case any of Harbinger’s men stumbled onto them. “You and Murph guard the corridors.”

  “But sir, the door is open to the camp. The deaders—”

  “Just fucking do it, Mifune.”

  “All right.” Mifune directed Murphy to guard the corridor they came from while Mifune took the opposite one.

  Drake gazed outside the window, unsure of what they were trying to accomplish. How can we possibly destroy a camp full of deaders? he asked himself. We can’t. It’s impossible. The only thing to do is to get a good look at the assholes running this place and report back to Alpha—if Alpha still exists.

  Then he saw him. Dagos. Tied to a pole. Waiting for the dead horde to devour him. Drake and Chosin eyed each other. The vampire knew the human about to die was a comrade of Drake’s, but asked anyway. “One of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  What do I plan to do? Drake considered. Should I watch him die like I watched that poor bastard nomad die? If we attack, it’s suicide. He’s not my favorite soldier. Always up Tarte’s ass… But how can I leave Dagos to die? He’s still one of us, a brother. For the first time since the mission began, Drake was frightened, nervous, and confused.

  “There isn’t much time, if you wish to act.”

  Drake was lost in thought. Mission or no mission, he mused, I cannot let a brother-in-arms die out here like a dog to these bastards.

  “Hold it!” a guard near Mifune yelled just before the veteran thrust a knife into the man’s eye. Drake watched as his old friend pulled the knife out of the dead guard’s eye and then plunge it into the man’s skull to ensure he wouldn’t return.

  “We have to get him out of here,” Drake said to Chosin. “You may betray us, but I have no choice. Will you help?”

  “I would not be here if I wouldn’t,” Chosin replied.

  Drake signaled for Murphy and Mifune to return to him. They hurried over to his side.

  “Sir, I think it’s time we left.” Mifune wiped the bloodied knife along his trousers and then placed it back into its sheath.