by Zack Archer
There was a gust of ozone-tanged wind and the sound of a machine powering up behind one of the walls as the lights flashed back on.
Bo Knox, the big guard that Deb had knocked out, was clutching a rifle with smoke coiling from the barrel. He’d been the one to fire the two shots into the back of the kid’s head.
“Drop your gun,” Bo said, his face creased with anger.
“I’m one of the good guys,” I replied.
“Not from where I’m standing. Drop the goddamn gun or I will cross your ass over before you can take another breath.”
I did, as Sharla and the ladies appeared. Dropping into a crouch, I stared at the body of the dead boy. You have to remember that I’d seen so much death and destruction that I was hardened to almost anything, but the sight of his still-steaming corpse choked me up. Maybe it was because I’d played with him earlier, or maybe it was because if there was any hope for the future it would rest with someone like him, and now he was gone. Deb, Raven, and the other ladies were shocked as well. Hollis had her hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. I turned what was left of his body over and cast a withering look in Miss Frost’s direction. “What the hell is going on?”
“If you really want to know, follow me,” she replied. “Because there isn’t much time.”
4
For ten minutes, we followed Sharla and Lawless down an inner corridor that snaked around the belly of the mountain, passing a brace of guards who were rushing in the other direction. Several questions were shouted in Sharla’s direction, but she didn’t respond. After several more minutes, we arrived in front of a set of oversized olive doors. The doors were without markings or handles, but one of them was centered by a gunmetal gray retina scanner.
Sharla leaned into the scanner and a red light swept her eyes, eventually turning green. Lawless looked back at us. “This is his study,” he whispered. “The professor, only most of us call him Jigsaw.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
I caught a look from Layla. “I think I’m getting ready to take my chances with the revs.”
I held a finger to my mouth to shush her as the doors hissed open to reveal a semi-darkened inner sanctum hacked into the granite. We entered the room, which was circular and filled with tables either stacked with books or strewn with gear and gizmos and pieces of discarded or field-stripped weaponry. A dozen flatscreen TVs hung from the walls above alcoves and niches that were obscured by shadows.
“What do you think, Slade?”
“I like what’s been done to the space. Furnished in early-American mad scientist.”
“You wanted to know what was going on. I’ve brought you to the place where you can find out,” Sharla said.
Deb slapped her hands together. “Enough of the bullshit, lady. I want some goddamn answers and I want them right now!”
The flatscreens flashed to life.
I flinched, squinting in the hazy lights, and watched imagery shot from a variety of angles. Some of the images were top-down, drone-style shots, while others were static CCTV-style shots, and still more seemed to have been taken by the shaky hand of a human or humans. Some of the footage was taken in broad daylight and others at night, but all of it had one thing in common: it appeared to show the end of civilization.
Glimpses of anarchy.
Here was footage showing a zombie pack running through the streets of New York City; there was footage of the ghouls running amok in downtown Los Angeles, chasing a man with no arms. My eyes skipped from screen to screen and I saw ordinary people—civilians—fighting back, along with soldiers counterattacking the undead as helicopters and fighter-bombers fired missiles and dropped ordnance. There were more scenes, shot overseas, that showed zombies marching past the Eiffel Tower, massing in Red Square, and rioting on the Great fucking Wall of China.
Lexie started humming the REM song It’s the End of the World, and Raven elbowed her in the side.
“The world has taken a collective knee,” said an unseen man with a voice that sounded like he was gargling with marbles.
Squinting, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. A figure, seated off to the side, hidden in the shadows and the glow of the flatscreens. A bald man in a wheelchair.
With much effort, the man spun his wheelchair around and maneuvered toward us. He was staring down the barrel of sixty, and his face was a mosaic of scars and sections of welted, raised flesh. Both of his arms and his left leg, which was little more than a silver rod, were prosthetic as was his tongue, which was fat and rubbery and drooped unnaturally when he opened his mouth. The nickname Jigsaw made complete sense given that he appeared to be little more than a collection of disparate pieces cobbled together.
“You want answers and that’s the answer,” the man said, pointing at the footage on the screens. “Civilization as you know it is over.”
“Ding, ding, ding. And the winner of the gloomiest introduction in the history of the world goes to crazy guy here,” Raven said, pointing at the guy in the wheelchair.
“He’s not crazy,” Sharla said. “This is Professor Avrum Dershowitz.”
“Dersh is what my friends call me,” the Professor said with a faint smile. “And I’ll concede that given all that’s happened, I’m a little off my rocker.”
Layla folded her arms across her chest. “Aren’t we all?”
The professor rolled forward and appraised us. “I take it you’re the survivors from D.C.”
I nodded. “I’m Nick Dekko.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the professor replied.
I began to introduce the ladies, but Deb said she didn’t need a man to speak for her and the others, which was just fine by me. They introduced themselves and we shared a few pleasantries.
“This is nice and all,” Raven said. “But given that we were just nearly killed by those things back there, we need to get down to business.”
A look of puzzlement gripped the professor’s face. “Don’t even tell me—was the perimeter breached again?”
“You didn’t know?”
The professor shook his head. “This space was a SCIF before, a sensitive compartmented information facility. It’s essentially soundproof.”
“Why did you say breached again?” Scarlett asked, incredulous. “This has happened before?”
“You haven’t told them, Miss Frost?”
Sharla pursed her lips. “I was getting around to it, Dersh…”
“Tell us what?”
“That those things continue to find their way inside because the facility is failing and will need to be abandoned in approximately twelve hours.”
A collective groan and “Are you fucking kidding me?” went up.
I raised my hands. “I thought this was supposed to be the safest place in the country.”
“It is,” the professor replied. “When the electricity is fully functional.”
He lifted an object that resembled a television remote control and pointed to one of the screens. The images changed to scenes of frenzied revenants running full-steam into a fence. Their bodies stuck to the metal loops, quivering, smoking.
“Every day a little more of that happens,” the professor said. “They throw themselves on the fencing and overload the electrical circuits. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they seem to have a plan. We do what we can, but their numbers increase as our store of supplies and fuel decreases.”
“It’s like plugging a leak in a dyke with your finger,” Sharla added.
“In a little over three hours the facility will run out of fuel. Once that happens, the outer fences, the ones at the base of the mountain nearest the largest number of the dead, will fail. The solar panels and turbines will power the other fencing, but only for an additional three hours.”
“And then?”
“And then Raven Rock goes under new management,” the professor replied ruefully.
“Vamonos then,” Raven said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Wasn’t that a Bruce Willis, Wesley Snipes action movie?” Lexie asked.
The professor stared at her for several uncomfortable seconds. “It was a plan put in place by the President two weeks before the grid went down. It involved the Post Office suspending all mail services to start delivering antibiotics and antidotes to infected persons.”
The professor tapped his remote control and pointed to several of the screens that showed mail trucks trying to deliver supplies to neighborhoods, only to be chased down and overturned by rampaging packs of zombies.
“As you can see, things didn’t go as planned,” the professor said.
“Everybody’s got a plan until they get punched in the mouth,” Raven muttered.
“Who said that?” I asked.
“Professor Mike Tyson,” she replied with a wink.
Deb held up a hand. “Something doesn’t add up. You mentioned the Post Office delivering antibiotics and antidotes to infected persons.”
“Indeed,” remarked the professor.
“But that would mean…there was an antidote.”
The professor smiled. “What if there was one?”
“I’d ask why the hell we’re standing here and not handing it out.”
“Which brings us to the reason we brought you here,” Sharla said.
Hollis sighed. “Cliché number one hundred and four. The survivors of a catastrophic event are whisked away, only to be offered safe passage if they risk their necks again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the plots in Aliens and, to a lesser extent, Blade II, among others, lady,” Hollis replied. “You’ve rescued us from the proverbial frying pan and are now asking us to jump back into the fire.”
Sharla waved her hand dismissively. “Let’s focus on what matters. For instance, many people don’t know that the government has always maintained the ‘Strategic National Stockpile.’ An immense collection of drugs, serums, plasma, antitoxins, and nearly every other pharmaceutical goodie you can think of. Originally, the stockpile was housed in D.C., but then it was moved to Atlanta, and finally Miami.”
“You got a cure for what ails the world in that stockpile?” Layla asked.
The professor nodded. “While we can’t save the dead, we should be able to provide full protection from the virus to the living.”
“And now all you need is someone to head on down to Florida and get that antidote, huh?”
Sharla summoned a huge smile. “Given all that you’ve encountered and overcome, we think you would be perfect for the job.”
“Why don’t you go and do it?” Scarlett asked. “You’ve got helicopters and men with guns.”
“Those men are trained soldiers, but they’re not like you,” Sharla said. “They’re not irregulars, they don’t have the ability to blend into their surroundings, and they don’t have experience surviving out in the world. Besides, a portion of them have to transport us to Site Z, an underground facility in Wyoming where we’ll be reconstituting the government.”
I huddled with the others. “I’m not liking the sounds of this at all,” Deb said. “Sounds like a straight-up suicide mission.”
“Technically it’s not suicide,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because if you die you get reanimated.”
Deb flipped me a middle finger.
“What’s the alternative?” Hollis asked. “We sit around here underground, waiting for those things to batter the doors down?”
“You make it sound so unpleasant,” I said.
“I’m being serious here, Nick.”
“Okay, yeah, so that’s the alternative. We either go out like a bunch of chumps, or we head down to South Beach—”
“And become heroes,” Raven said, finishing my thought.
I nodded. “Course, yours truly is already a hero…”
Lexie fluttered her eyelashes at me.
Layla looked back at Sharla. “What do we get in return if we decide to do this?” she asked.
“Your government’s thanks.”
Raven shook her head. “Yeah, that’s some bullshit for sure. A handshake ain’t moving the needle at all, lady.”
The professor lifted his head. “The federal reserve has a bunker just outside Culpeper, Virginia. People think it was shuttered, but that’s not the case…”
I nodded. Federal Reserve money. Now he was talking.
Raven tapped her boot on the ground. “What’s inside the bunker?”
“Enough money to rebuild the world’s economy. Four billion dollars.”
Raven smiled. “Four billion’s a pretty good start...”
“What good is money if the world’s still in the shitter?” Layla asked.
“Not all of the world is dark,” the professor said. “Some of the Nordic countries and several in Central America are slowly coming back online, and as soon as we have that antidote, we’ll be able to reboot the globe. The first thing countries are going to need is currency, so we’d be more than happy to set aside a portion of that four billion for you. Say, ten percent.”
Raven barked a laugh. “More like thirty.”
Sharla shook her head. “Fifteen.”
“Twenty-five,” said Deb.
“Fifteen,” Sharla snapped. “And not a penny more.”
Aside from the static-laced hum of the flatscreens, silence stretched between us. I stole looks at Raven and the others, reading their expressions. None of us wanted to go on another death-defying mission, but fifteen percent of four billion dollars has a way of changing hearts and minds.
“I’m in,” Raven said.
“Me too,” Lexie offered.
“What the hell,” Scarlett said. “You gotta die of something, right?”
The others, even a reluctant Hollis, agreed to go.
Deb raised a hand “Who’s in charge of this clusterfuck?”
“That’d be me,” a woman with a British accent said.
We looked up as a figure strode out of one of the shadowy niches below the flatscreens. It was a tallish woman with striking, vaguely Asian features, who was garbed in blood-stained camouflage. From the looks of her ponytail and the way she held herself, I knew it was the mysterious woman who’d saved me during the zombie attack. This was confirmed when her hands came from behind her back to reveal the weapon I’d seen her use, the long, black staff with the razor-sharp blades bolted to either side.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Lucy Cummings,” the woman replied. “And if you ladies are done clucking your tongues, it’s time to get ready. You’ve got two hours of down time and then the training starts.”
5
One of Sharla’s assistants, a reed-thin woman named Heather Foster, showed us to our sleeping quarters. It was a wide space with exposed stone walls that was cluttered with rows of queen-sized beds, several refrigerators, bean bags, couches, pinball machines, and other assorted retro shoot ‘em up games.
“Not too shabby,” Hollis said, looking around.
“You’ve got food and drink, and the air is super-fresh and kept at a constant sixty-six degrees because we’re underground.”
“How about somewhere to freshen up?” I asked.
Heather led us outside and down a short hallway to a large communal shower that was situated next to the lavatories.
It might offend some sensibilities, but I was exhausted and filthy so I doffed my clothes right then and there and stepped into the shower, much to the dismay of Ms. Foster. The ladies did the same and soon we were all buck naked, enjoying the warm water, soaping each other up. I did my best to avoid glancing at their beautiful, steam-dappled bodies, fighting like hell to avoid any arousal.
I’d thought that Hollis might take offense at everyone showering together, but she didn’t. She stood under the showerhead, her back to me and ha
nds raised as if in prayer, as the water pebbled off her beautiful, toned frame. Turning, she strategically covered her breasts and notch, catching me stealing a look at her. I blushed and glanced away watching, dumbstruck, as Raven wrung conditioner from Lexie’s hair, the pair standing nose to nose, close enough to kiss.
“Don’t go getting any ideas, Dekko,” Deb said.
“Too late,” I replied.
Deb worked on my back, her strong hands massaging the soap into my lower back before her fingers slipped down around my hind end and hamstrings. She had a devilish look on her face as the steam billowed, obscuring visibility until I could no longer see the others. She bit her lip while positioning herself so that she could manipulate my ass while soaping up my privates.
“What about you?” I asked, worried that I was being selfish.
“I get pleasure in pleasuring you,” she replied, biting my ear.
I was terrified that the others might see us and urged her to stop, but Deb worked quickly and efficiently, sucking on my nipple while stroking my dick. As if sensing my impending climax, she covered my mouth as I exploded all over the shower floor.
Thankfully, nobody seemed to be aware of our steam rendezvous, and once we were finished showering, we returned to our sleeping quarters and pulled the mattresses off the beds so that we could line them up in the middle of the room. I plopped down in the middle and the ladies laid next to me. It was a glorious thing to lie there on a real bed surrounded by a group of beautiful women. In another time I would’ve taken a selfie to memorialize the moment, but I was too damned tired, anyway. No one said a word as we drifted off to the first real sleep we’d had in a very long time,
We woke to the sound of a buzzer three hours later and spotted Lucy standing at the doorway, staff in hand.
“Rise and shine, my lovelies,” she said, depressing a button on her staff as the blade withdrew into the wood. “Daylight in the swamp, and all.”
Layla yawned. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means it’s time to see Boz.”