Clickers vs Zombies

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “Two-hundred million years? So they’re dinosaurs?”

  “No. Dinosaurs we could deal with. These are something else. I don’t know much about them. I was briefed on them earlier today, but another division is handling the problem. Apparently, wherever they’ve been hiding, that tsunami last week has stirred them up. But like I said, they’re for somebody else to deal with. We’ve got more important problems.”

  “The zombies.”

  “Correct. The Siqqusim.”

  “But they’re just here in the city, right?”

  “No. What we just went through—what we just escaped from? It’s spreading everywhere. The entire world will be like that by tomorrow morning.”

  “What do we do? How do we stop it?”

  “Open the glove compartment.”

  Michele did as he asked while Clark alternated his attention between the traffic ahead of them and the ominous shapes in the water far below. She pulled out a small hardcover book, bound in black leather with gold foil embossing.

  “That’s one of your field manuals,” Clark said. “It documents everything we know about the Thirteen. I’m supposed to wait until your probationary period is up before I give it to you, but…fuck it. Let’s just say you’ve fast-tracked. Welcome to the team.”

  Michele was stunned. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Please, call me Clark. Michele, you’ve been doing great, but I’m really going to need your help in the task ahead. We’ve got a big job ahead of us. First thing I need to do is focus my energies for a while.”

  “You can meditate and drive at the same time?”

  “Sure. Later—if there is a later—I can teach you how. It will be dark soon. In a little while, I’ll answer all your questions about where we are going and what’s happening. But first I need to focus for a bit. Turn my attention inward. So what I want you to do, in the meantime, is read the first few entries in that book. That will provide answers to some of your questions. Okay?”

  She nodded, unable to disguise her eagerness to open the book.

  Clark grinned. “Okay.”

  He fell silent, staring straight ahead. His eyes remained open and focused on the road, but his breathing slowed. Once Michele was certain that he wouldn’t drive them off the bridge, she turned her attention to the field manual and opened to the first page.

  She began to read.

  TOP SECRET

  EYES ONLY

  G42-667-666-777-MU

  The following information is for Black Lodge operatives with a security classification of Adept or higher, to assist them in the field. Please note that sigils, binding rituals and banishing techniques are not included in this pamphlet. Only operatives with a security classification of Magus or higher shall have access to that information. The material contained herein is not to be disseminated with any other parties or persons, be they living or otherwise, under penalty of our laws, by order of Kaine.

  I.

  WHO ARE THE THIRTEEN?

  In the beginning, the entity we know as God, Yahweh, Allah, and more (herein referred to as the Creator), whose true name is known only to a handful of people, created the heavens and the Earth. In order to create this new universe, He needed a lot of energy. So the Creator destroyed the universe that existed before ours, down to the very last atom, and utilized the harvested energies as building blocks. The old universe ceased to exist.

  However, in addition to the Creator, there were thirteen other denizens of that previous universe who somehow escaped the destruction. These entities are collectively known to us as the Thirteen.

  They are not gods or demons, though mankind and other races have often mistaken them for such. Indeed, they are often mistaken for the Devil, or are worshipped by servants who do not understand that the Thirteen will not hear their entreaties unless it somehow benefits their plans. They are not susceptible to all of the same magicks and supernatural laws that govern, banish or bind demons, angels, and other supernatural entities. Very specific magicks and rules must be used when confronting them. Most of these have been verified by a number of different sources, including copies of the Daemonolateria from both this level and others.

  While it is folly to apply human logic and emotion to their motivations, the Thirteen seem to have one single-minded goal. They seek the total obliteration of everything the Creator has made. Perhaps it is revenge for His destruction of their old universe. Perhaps they seek to build a universe of their own—one in which they are in charge.

  They will not stop until all of creation is destroyed.

  That includes all of the Earths.

  The universe is composed of different ‘levels’. Some call these levels alternate realities. While string theory has scratched the surface of this, mankind, for the most part, remains woefully ignorant as to the vast extent of these levels. Just as there are different planets in the sky, there are also different versions of those planets, existing simultaneously on a different level of the universe. Beings, including some humans, can traverse this multiverse by means of something called The Labyrinth.

  The Labyrinth is a dimensional shortcut through time and space. It is not actually a labyrinth, but that is how mankind perceives it, thus the name. Only a handful of humans know of its existence—madmen, magi, a few in the highest levels of government, and of course, operatives of Black Lodge. But the Thirteen know it well, and they use it to traverse the various levels of reality, and lay waste to creation.

  Their methods are many—global floods, plaques, fires, the resurrection of the dead, planetary darkness, and a host of other means. Sometimes, they work together. Sometimes, they act alone. Once a planet is utterly destroyed, they move on to the next.

  We do not know why the Creator has not taken steps to stop them. All we know is that their war rages unchecked. It is whispered that throughout the multiverse, there are seven individuals who can stand against them. Herein, they are collectively referred to as The Seven.

  II.

  OB

  NAME: Ob

  OTHER NAMES: Mictla-techuhtli. The Obot (see below)

  TITLE: Lord of the Siqqusim

  FIELD REPORT: Ob is the brother of Ab and Api. Most of Ob’s other names are unknown. There is a possibility that the Obot serves as another name for this entity, but there has not been a definitive consensus on this.

  Ob is the leader of an incorporeal race of beings known as the Siqqusim. We do not know if Ob created this race or if they were created by another, but he does command them. The Siqqusim have the ability to possess the dead bodies of major warm and cold-blooded life forms after the soul has departed, in effect, turning them into zombies.

  Ob is mentioned seventeen times in the Old Testament (although one of these references, Job 32:19, is rather dubious). Ob is also mentioned in other texts of that era, and while the word Ob is a Hebrew term, it also shows up in Sumerian, Ugartitian, Mesopotamian, Assyrian, Martian, and Reptilian texts as well.

  Most scholars agree that the worship of Ob involved the act of necromancy, and the conjuration, consultation, and control of the dead. He is often mentioned in conjunction with engastrimythos, meaning “one who speaks from the head.” It is said that Ob possessed King Niqmaddu III upon his death, and “spoke from his head.”

  One early Mesopotamian cult falsely believed that Ob referred to a group of spirits of the dead, rather than a singular entity. They used a series of spells, called gidim-hul, as necromantic rituals that could, in turn, conjure or expel the spirits of the dead. In this context, Ob was worshipped alongside Baal in Moab. Other cultures believed incorrectly that Ob was not an entity or group of entities at all, but rather, a location—the point of contact between our world and the realm of the dead. We know this to be false.

  Eventually, singular worship of Ob changed into worship of the Siqqusim as a whole. Cults sprang up in Assyrian, Sumero-Akkadian, Mesopotamian, and the Ugaritic cultures. The entities were consulted by necromancers and soothsayers. It was at this point that the
Creator banished the Siqqusim and their leader to a place called the Void, along with Ab and his Elilum, and Api and his Teraphim.

  At some point, Ob gained temporary release from the Void and possessed the body of Lazarus, a close companion of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Ob taunted Jesus, telling him that the Creator had released him from the Void in order to teach Jesus a lesson. However, there is some speculation that Ob may have been lying to the Nazarene. We do not yet know the reason for such a lie. Eventually, Ob was banished again to the Void. Secret worship of the Siqqusim continued into the Middle Ages.

  Early in the Twenty-First century, on another level other than our own reality, mankind managed to breach the Void by ripping open the walls of the Labyrinth with the use of an ion collider (we do not know if this was by accident or if there were more sinister forces at work). Ob and the Siqqusim, Ab and the Elilum, and Api and the Teraphim were released. They quickly ravaged the Earth of that level and have since moved on to other levels and other worlds. On one such Earth, Ob’s plans were at least temporarily thwarted by two organized crime figures named Anthony Genova and Vincent Napoli. That Genova is the other universe’s version of our Anthony Genova, the current President of the United States of America. Genova and Napoli’s counterparts on other levels have encountered supernatural creatures, as well. We know that on all levels, Genova is one of The Seven. He is unaware of this, and is also unaware that we are monitoring him and the other six.

  The field manual went on to talk about other beings—Ob’s brothers, Ab and Api, a creature known as Leviathan, and many others. When she was finished reading, Michele closed the book on her lap and glanced over at Clark. He still seemed to be in a trance. She noticed that they had left the bridge and were now on the highway. The GPS was silent. She considered turning on the radio, but was afraid to disturb her superior. Instead, she sat patiently, terrified of what might happen next.

  “I should have stayed in college,” she mumbled, staring out the window as the landscape rushed by. “Elementary school teachers don’t have to deal with things like this.”

  FIVE

  Washington D.C.

  At the White House, President Anthony Genova was getting briefed by his Secretary of Defense Melissa Peterson. Until today, President Genova—Tony to his friends—had been filled with a sense of pride at his administration. Not only was he the first Italian-American President, but Melissa was the first female Secretary of Defense. Both had worked hard to get where they were. His entire campaign had been bedeviled with stereotypes from his opponent’s supporters; that he had ties to organized crime being the most persistent (and totally unfounded) rumor. Still, they had prevailed.

  Until today.

  He listened with a growing sense of dread. There was a global zombie outbreak taking place, and it had apparently manifested in several U.S. cities—with San Francisco being the heaviest hit. Worse, an invasive and hostile species that the media had termed Clickers was emerging from the waters of the Pacific, and now there were reports of the creatures appearing in the Atlantic and Mediterranean oceans, as well.

  “The beaching,” Melissa said, “occurred so quickly that scientists weren’t sure what to make of it. An underwater disturbance such as a severe change in temperature or an earthquake can cause it. Changes in underwater pressure will sometimes damage the eardrums of mammals such as whales and dolphins, causing them to become disoriented. But since this wasn’t just the ocean’s mammals stranding themselves on the beaches, scientists assumed it must be due to last week’s tsunami. Now, of course, we know better.”

  Tony grimaced. “No shit.”

  He noticed the look of disapproval on Cabinet Secretary Vincent Napoli’s face.

  “Don’t start in with your ‘the President shouldn’t curse’ bullshit, Vince. Not now.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. President, but it’s true. You know the media has a field day every time you drop an F-bomb on a live microphone.”

  “I don’t see the media in here right now, you fat fuck.”

  Vince’s face turned beet red.

  Ignoring him, Tony turned to Melissa. “Go ahead. What about San Francisco?”

  “The Governor mobilized the National Guard. With your approval, we’ll put troops on the ground there, as well.”

  Tony noticed that Vince was flexing the fingers of his left hand. The overweight man’s forehead was slick with sweat.

  “We’ve already mobilized the Marines and Navy personnel in San Diego,” Melissa said. “They’re engaging both the Clickers and the, um…zombies already.”

  “Congress will just love that,” Tony groaned, “seeing as how we did it without notifying them.”

  “The base was under attack, Mr. President. Our forces were merely defending themselves. Lieutenant Colonel Jack Ripley says that—"

  “Wait a minute, Colonel Ripley? Colonel Jack Ripley?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I thought Colonel Ripley was retired. Was going to open up a rare comic book store in the remote woods of Maine or some fucking place.”

  “No sir, not anymore. He’s requested another year, sir.”

  Tony sighed and rubbed his face. He was about to tell Melissa to continue when Vince grabbed his chest, moaned, and then fell over. His face made a loud, wet smacking sound as it struck the table.

  “Jesus Christ on a pogo stick!” Tony leaped to his feet and turned to one of the Secret Service agents. “Get some help in here!”

  Cabinet members, Secret Service agents, and civilian personnel all hovered around. Some tried to help, while others just got in the way. Tony was about to order them to clear the room when Vince began to stir.

  “Is he okay?” Melissa asked, shoving forward.

  Vince sat up slowly and grinned. A line of drool ran down his double chins.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “But very, very hungry.”

  Then, with a speed that belied his prodigious bulk, he jumped out of his chair, rushed forward, and clamped his teeth around Tony’s nose. The pain was excruciating. Tony beat at him with his fists as he felt the man’s teeth grind together. Vince pulled back a few inches, and spat Tony’s severed nose in his face. Then his head darted forward for another bite.

  The room erupted into chaos. The Secret Service agents flung themselves at the two men, reluctant to open fire lest they hit the President by mistake. Vince tossed them aside like they were rag dolls, and chewed off Tony’s face. The President’s lips stretched like taffy, and his eyeballs dribbled down his cheeks as Vince’s fat fingers gouged into his sockets. One of the agents shot the attacker, firing three shots into his chest. Laughing, Vince ignored the gunfire and moved toward Melissa. The President collapsed to the floor, jittering, and then lay still. His bladder and bowels vented.

  A moment later, the President sat up, grinning blindly.

  “Let’s get this fucking party started,” the Siqqusim inside President Genova said.

  Palos Verdes, California

  Dr. Post sat on his back deck, nervous anticipation settling over his lanky frame. Fishermen had hauled three more of the strange hybrid creatures in from various beaches today and had taken no chances. Being smaller specimens, they’d crushed them with heavy blows with various steel tools, then contacted animal control officers who had in turn contacted the Marine Institute. Dr. Post had confirmed the remains of these new specimens were identical to the one killed last night to the Department of Agriculture official he’d talked to last night on the phone. “But they’re juveniles,” he’d told them. “All three of these are. In fact, these two,” he’d said, pointing to the two latest ones from this afternoon, “are just babies.”

  “Babies?” The Department of Agriculture official had said, the color draining from his face. He’d flown in to California from Washington just this morning to view the remains. Dr. Post had turned to him, trying to convey how serious this was.

  “Yes,” Dr. Post had said as gently and as convincingly as he could. “These are babies. Th
e one from last night was a juvenile. If it were a canine, it would be the equivalent of a five month old puppy.”

  “Are there more of these, Doc?” the Department of Agriculture guy had asked. The grim look on Alfred’s face told the government official all he needed to know. Where there were babies, there were parents.

  He’d sat out here all evening, mulling the facts over in his mind. He preferred to think in silence and had neglected to turn on the television or radio. As a result, he’d been unaware that his theory had already been proven correct as the adult Clickers came ashore, streaming from the ocean on their segmented legs, frenzied and hungry, to terrorize numerous cities and communities all along the coast.

  Alfred half-dozed, lulled by the sound of the waves. He wondered if perhaps they should move further inland, if only for a few days. Maybe rent a hotel room somewhere? As the sun bobbed on the horizon, preparing to sink for the evening, he heard fire sirens wailing in the distance and wondered what was happening.

  An anguished cry from his next-door neighbor’s house pulled his attention from the sirens. Disturbed and concerned, Alfred got out of his chair and moved to the railing. His neighbor, George, ran out into the yard.

  “Doctor Post,” George shouted. “Oh, thank God you’re there. I think Ginny may have just had a heart attack. I can’t get her to respond to CPR and she doesn’t have a pulse. My daughter tried calling an ambulance, but our phone is out. Will you please call 911?”

  “Oh my Lord. Absolutely, George.”

  The frantic neighbor ran back inside his house. Al reached for his cell phone, which was sitting on a spare deck chair. He’d muted it while he was thinking. He un-muted it and saw that there were no service bars. Cursing, he tried dialing for help anyway, only to receive a recording telling him to try his call again later.