Ice Station Zombie: A Post Apocalyptic Chiller

by JE Gurley

  “What if I brought you a few test subjects?”

  The pause told him they were at least considering his mad, spur of the moment scheme. “Can you?”

  He wanted to shout for joy. “Yes. I can try. We can’t sit out here waiting for the end.” He looked at Nicole. Some of the color had returned to her face. She nodded once, almost a jerk of the head, as if afraid to trust her voice.

  “We need at least half a dozen subjects to verify our results. We have a secure place for them here. I must warn you, however, no drugs seem to be effective against them, and even limbless torsos can still be dangerous.”

  He looked at Nicole and smiled. “I’ll figure something out. When I come up honking my horn, you be ready to let us in.”

  “We are the white, two-story concrete building beside the microwave tower. There is a delivery door at the rear of the facility. We have constructed a holding pen there. What is your plan?”

  “I don’t know yet. I will advise when we’re ready. Over and out.”

  Alex bounded around the van, feeling tons lighter. The catharsis he had just endured had cleansed him of all past sins. His sentence of death had forced him to confront his memories, not as they flashed before his eyes, but as the weight of them slowly crushed him, crushed his will to survive. He had failed Jiselle just as he had now failed Nicole. Then, the slim chance of a cure offered a second chance, a way to make amends, to save Nicole. It offered a chance to save himself, not from death, which he no longer feared, but from living a lie. He had given up on himself long ago, driven onward only by his stubbornness, his unwillingness to lose to an invisible enemy. Now, there might be hope for the future. He could not let that chance pass unchallenged.

  “What do you intend to do?” Nicole asked.

  He shook his head slowly, hoping to jostle loose an idea from somewhere inside his brain. It didn’t seem to help. “I don’t know yet.”

  * * * *

  When they arrived at the gates of Camp Rapier, Nicole clamped her hand to her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Alex’s blood ran cold, but he smiled to try to show his faith in his plan, but the smile quickly faded as he surveyed the staggering scene in front of them. They had left their van parked a short distance away and walked into Woomera on foot, avoiding dozens of zombies along the way. This did not prepare them for the hundreds of walking dead wandering inside the ADF facility. Many wore the torn and bloodstained uniforms of the Australian Defense Force, but most were civilians, men, women, and children struck down by the plague in a military outpost that offered no defense against the tiny nanites borne by the wind.

  His hastily conceived plan, concocted after downing the last of Gore’s vodka, depended on his luring a few of the zombies into the back of a truck with him as the bait. The problem was to avoid crowds of the creatures and not to become food himself. He had located a suitable truck and after changing the battery and priming the carburetor, managed to crank it. He had not planned that Woomera, normally a small village, would swell tenfold with refugees after the Demise. He sat down with his back against the wall of a small building, his clenched fists pushing into his forehead.

  “It won’t work,” he said.

  Nicole sat down beside him. “It was too dangerous to begin with. Let’s just make a mad dash for the building in the van.”

  He looked up at her. Dirt and grease smudged her cheeks from where she had helped him with the truck. She tried to hide her apprehension behind a mask of calm reasoning, but he could tell by the manner in which her eyes darted about that she was very frightened. He couldn’t blame her. The few small groups of zombies in Coober Pedy had not prepared either of them for the mass of dead walking flesh between them and their last hope for survival.

  “Then we’re no better off than now. We’ll be stuck there, like the others, with hundreds of zombies surrounding us until we run out of food.”

  She slammed her fist on her knee. “It’s not right,” she moaned. “Why can’t they just die?”

  He did not bother telling her that the zombies were already dead. He knew what she meant.

  “If what they said is true, they might have a means of ending the plague. They need test subjects. We have to do this. I have to do this.”

  Nicole glanced at him; then looked away. “We have to do it. You were right the first time.”

  He grinned at her. When he had first met her, almost run her down with his jeep, he had just wanted to be rid of her. The last thing he wanted was more responsibility. Now, he was glad she had stayed with him. Their ordeal together had united them, not only in the desire to find a place free of the zombies, but in a more fundamental way. He needed her inner strength. He needed her companionship. Seeing so many dead made him cling to another living person that much more.

  “It will be easier to round up some of the strays we passed. Then we make a mad dash.”

  A smile raised the corners of her mouth slightly.

  When they reached the van and the truck, Alex stopped, embraced Nicole, and kissed her. Taken by surprise, at first, she resisted. After a few seconds, she relaxed and returned his kiss with a deep passion that she had held in check for so long by her fears and doubts, about Alex, about the future. Alex wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms, carry her to the van, and make love to her, but that would have to wait. He reined in his passion and broke their embrace.

  “That was for luck,” he said.

  Her answer was a slightly veiled invitation. “Maybe you need more luck.”

  “First things first, unfortunately.”

  The truck, a five-ton military truck converted into a mobile communications vehicle, had double doors in the rear and a small hatch in the front for access to the driver’s cab. He and Nicole had erected a half wall from salvaged doors and lumber near the front of the compartment ,just low enough to allow Alex to scramble over, but high enough to thwart the uncoordinated zombies from following. A short ramp made it easier for the zombies to enter the truck.

  His plan was simple if foolhardy – Lure the zombies into the truck, avoid being eaten, have Nicole close the rear door behind the zombies, preferably also without dying. Its simplicity worried him, but he could conceive no alternate plan. It was not difficult to attract the attention of a group of zombies. He located seven rambling down an alley and allowed them to pursue him to the truck. Once inside, he vaulted the low wall and faced the zombies.

  “Come on! Come and get me! Fresh meat, you bastards! Get it while it’s still breathing!”

  The sound of his voice more than his taunts drew them forward into the truck, all but one. One zombie, a tall soldier with tattered flesh hanging from his arms and face, wore the insignia of an officer. He remained at the rear of the truck, seeming to study it. He placed a withered hand on the metal of the rear of the truck and made strange cooing noises.

  “Just my luck,” Alex said aloud eyeing the soldier. “I’ve nicked a bloody homesick communications officer.”

  With the officer outside the truck, Nicole could not close and seal the rear doors, ending his hopes of trapping the zombies inside. As the zombies banged against the wall protecting him from their reaching hands, moaning and grunting, eager to get at him, Alex tried to decide what to do next. Nicole settled the problem for him. A shot rang out and the officer’s head exploded. His fellow zombies turned at the sound, but Nicole was already slamming shut the doors of the truck.

  “Yeah!” Alex yelled in triumph. He crawled through the small opening, cranked the truck, and headed for the gate. He could see Nicole racing for the van, rifle in hand. Silently thanking her, he circled until she pulled up behind him. Leading the way, he shot through the open gates at eighty kilometers per hour, scattering zombies like a snowplow, crushing some beneath the large tandem wheels of the truck. He hoped his undead passengers were enjoying the thrill ride.

  He dodged larger groups knowing that the van could not negotiate piles of bodies as well as the truck. In his side mirror, he saw Nicole w
eaving around clots of zombies following his path. Nearing the building, surrounded by zombies, he began sounding the horn. At the signal, the rear door began to rise. He allowed Nicole to pass him, waited until she entered the bay, and then spun the truck in a tight turn, knocking aside startled zombies. Grinding the gears as he shifted, he reversed the truck and aimed for the dark opening, hoping the people inside got out of his way. He had spoken to the researchers earlier after concocting his daring plan. They had expressed doubts at his strategy but could offer him no better option. He eyed the narrowing distance between the sides of the truck and the walls with growing concern. He shot through the gap, losing the side mirrors when they hit the sides of the doorframe. When the nose of the truck cleared the door, he slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt.

  Two people stood inside the bay area, a tall, skinny man with a shock of white hair that matched his lab coat, and a shorter, older woman, with a pistol in her hand. Nicole stood beside the door with her rifle as the man lowered the door. The door slid down, shutting out the zombies.

  With obvious relief, the man fell against the wall and wiped his forehead with his arm. The woman stood nervously beside the truck, listening to the sounds of the zombies stirring around inside. Alex opened the door and leaped down from the cab. Nicole ran up to him and smothered him with kisses.

  “Thank God,” she whispered after a few moments. “I was so worried.”

  “Nice shot back there,” he said.

  Nicole smiled. Alex thought her smile seemed more relaxed than it had been in quite some time, but he knew their worries weren’t over yet. Getting in might prove more difficult than getting back out.

  The man and woman walked over. He offered Alex his hand. “My name’s Winston Jeffries. Glad to see you.” He paused a moment. “I hear you managed to capture some subjects.”

  “Six.”

  Jeffries nodded. “Enough.” He pointed to a fenced in area against one wall. “If you can back the truck to that opening, we’ll herd them into the enclosure.” He went silent for a second frowning. “I know that sounds crude. After all, they were once living people, maybe some I knew before . . . I guess now they’re just creatures, aren’t they?”

  Alex knew Jeffries did not expect an answer. He allowed him to continue.

  “This is Edith Newsome. Edith is our resident neurologist. She is also undoubtedly the best shot of us all. The others are waiting inside. We decided it best not to risk everyone.”

  Edith opened the door to the building. Inside, four others stood away from the door. When they saw the newcomers, they cheered and patted each other on the back. Jeffries called out to two of them.

  “Ivers. Hewitt. You two see to our subjects, please.” The two left the room. Jeffries turned to Alex and Nicole. “We were just about to have tea. Would you care to join us? No milk for the tea, I’m afraid.”

  “Check my van. We have a case of tinned milk. You’ll find a few cases of tinned meats and vegetables. Also, some fresh fruit and potatoes.”

  Edith smiled broadly, “That sounds marvelous. I do miss my milk with my tea. Biscuits I can do without but milk makes it civilized.” She rubbed her ample stomach. “None of us here are culinary talents. I’ve managed to shed a few pounds lately.”

  The wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks and the gaunt looks of the others suggested to Alex that the food situation for the researchers had been growing steadily severe. Nicole deftly took charge of the situation.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to show me the kitchen, I’ll get started on dinner. I think it’s marvelous you have electricity.”

  “We have a generator that runs on natural gas. There is a two thousand liter tank outside. Thank God for it or we would have made no progress.”

  “Just what are you working on?” Alex broke in.

  “The nanites are simply microscopic robots designed for one task. Whoever created these was a genius. They are able to regenerate nerve tissue and in a group simulate the autonomic functions of the human brain. In essence, they kill the host and then reanimate the corpse with a drive for blood, a source of energy the body can easily deal with.”

  Alex was lost at ‘microscopic robots’. “Can you kill them?”

  “We’ve had some luck at deactivating them under certain conditions using a device that emits an EM pulse.”

  Alex had heard of the electromagnetic pulse associated with nuclear weapons. “You intend to detonate a nuclear bomb?”

  Her face turned pale. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all. It would destroy all electronics. We’ll need them to rebuild. No, our device is a more focused application at a much weaker level. Ironically, we did get the idea from China, who used nuclear bombs on some of their own cities in an insane attempt to stop the plague. Zombies outside the blast zone were killed while living people were not. Of course, the radiation will kill them later, but it is the premise that counts.”

  Alex was relieved to hear they weren’t advocating nuking Australia. “That’s why the test subjects.”

  Edith’s eyes began to water. She blew her nose on a handkerchief she had in her pocket. “Yes. Poor Oswald went out yesterday to try to secure a specimen. He insisted on going out alone.” Her voice cracked. “They . . . they killed him.” She took a few steps and leaned heavily on a desk. “I shall miss him.”

  The two remaining researchers looked away in uncomfortable silence at their colleague’s outburst of emotion, leaving Alex to wonder if the relationship between Edith Newsome and poor Oswald had been more than professional. He understood her distress. All over the globe, survivors were dealing with the deaths of families, friends, and lovers, the best way they could. Some, unable to cope, had given up hope. Others, like him, had given up hope long ago. Survival had been the only option he understood. Until he had learned to deal with his attraction to Nicole, he had been simply going through the motions. Now, there might just be hope.

  Nicole came back into the room carrying an armful of tins of beef. To Dr. Jeffries she said, “Paul and Lewis said to please come out to the delivery area. They have a question for you.”

  After he had left, she turned to Alex. “Did you know there were twelve of them here when the Demise struck? Three turned into zombies and killed two others before Edith shot them.”

  Edith nodded, “It was horrible.”

  One of the two researchers spoke, “When we learned the disease was airborne, we all expected to die. Then, we thought we must be immune. Later, we discovered we are all infected, every human being on earth carrying a miniature time bomb inside.”

  “Karl is right,” the other said. “We sat around for two days just waiting to die; then, we began working. With any luck . . .” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “You should see to sleeping quarters for our guests,” Edith said. She looked at Alex. “One room or two?”

  “I, ah,--” he fumbled for an answer.

  “One room, please,” Nicole answered, smiling at Alex’s uneasiness.

  Alex returned her smile, glad their relationship had reached a turning point.

  “Uh, we also have hot water if you would like a shower,” Edith added. “Just try not to use too much. We have a limited supply.”

  Alex appreciated Edith’s subtle hint that they stank almost as badly as the zombies did. Nicole jumped and clapped her hands like a child.

  “A hot shower? Oh, my God what a delight.”

  Edith smiled, “We have shampoo as well.”

  Nicole left for the kitchen. Alex followed, walked up behind her and kissed her neck.

  “I like that, but not here,” she said. “Later, after a shower. Have you taken a close look at these people? I don’t think they’ve been eating very well.”

  “Then let’s cook a special meal for us all. I’ll help.”

  “Oh, no. I’ve tasted your cooking. You go help Dr. Jeffries.”

  He left her opening tins and pouring their contents into a large pot. Her movements seemed more alive than before. He
hoped it had something to do with their new bond. He found Jeffries standing on the loading dock overseeing the operation. The zombies were now safely inside the chain link fenced area. The two researchers were standing and staring at their movements.

  “I hope this lot will do,” Alex said. “Gathering them wasn’t easy.”

  “They will do nicely. Thank you for all you’ve done. Especially thank you for the supplies. We have been on half rations for weeks. Two of us tried to venture out for fresh supplies, but the zombies forced us back.”

  “I’ve got extra weapons and ammo in the van.”

  “Oh, I’m no good with a gun, I’m afraid,” Jeffries protested. “Perhaps the others,” he added.

  “I’ll show all of you how to shoot, except for Edith. She sounds competent already.”

  Jeffries nodded. “If you insist. I suppose weaponry has become part of the new reality. Until we succeed with our emitter, we will need to protect ourselves. It is very sad.”

  “Sad, but necessary,” Alex agreed. He imagined that without Edith among them, they would all be dead by now. “Guns might not make right, but they do make survival possible. How long will it take to perfect your emitter?”

  “We just need to fine tune it.” He nodded at the zombies. “These creatures will help. We have to know the threshold level of the nanite virus and pray it is below that of our electronic equipment.”

  “If not?”

  A look of profound sorrow overwhelmed Jeffries’ face. His jaw trembled as he answered, “Then, my friend, we all die.”

  23

  Sept.7, 2013 Outside Orroroo, Australia at 16,000 meters

  Val Marino sat across from Anson in the small Piper Cub and watched his friend revel in the joys of flying. At the bank of controls of the Hercules C-130, Anson had appeared small and lost, fighting to stay one step ahead of the behemoth, as it lumbered through the air. Grasping the steering yoke of the Piper almost lovingly, he soared as if part of the machine, smiling. A duplicate set of controls before Marino marked the Piper as a trainer, a point Anson did not let go unnoticed.