by Mark Tufo
Sam’s left arm, which had previously torn through his strappings from the violence of his encounter with compound HM103, had enough play to grip onto Dr. Peak’s arm just as it seemed he might be able to pull free. Crimson red spread on the bright white suit as Sam made contact with flesh. Dr. Peak shook uncontrollably as the Hugh-Mannites flooded into his blood stream; his pallor went instantly gray as if a cloud of death had passed over him. His brown eyes became opaque, nearly matching the shade of his skin. Something changed in Sam’s demeanor, as quickly as he had struck he let go as if Dr. Peak was no longer on the menu.
“What the hell is going on?” the General asked Arnstein in angry disbelief.
“I… I don’t know, nothing like this has ever happened. Dr. Peak, are you alright?”
Dr. Peak looked up to the wall speaker where the sound had emanated and then over to the plate glass window in front of him. Then he walked head long into the window. The vibrations from the glass were strong enough to force the General and the doctor backwards.
“What now Dr. Arnstein?” the General demanded.
“Dr. Peak, I have to fire the room, do you understand me?”
What was once Dr. Peak bit fruitlessly at the glass seeking to gain purchase. The Sam thing was busy trying to lick up all of the blood that was splattered around his face.
“Fire the fucking room, Doctor, I don’t think he’s going to come back,” the General ordered.
The doctor flipped open a large red protective cover and slammed down on the button underneath. A red warning light illuminated in the laboratory, although neither subject noticed it. Jets of napalm poured through moments before an ignition system set it on fire. The room became a swirling den of destruction as blue gold flames whipped through in a cyclonic twister of fury. Hell would have been proud of the devastation wrought. The intense heat left nothing to chance, even the metal gurney Sam had been adhered to melted into a puddle of slag. After three minutes of purge by lava, all of the air was used up and the fire stopped as quickly as it had started. What was once two humans were now nothing more than two larger than average piles of ash.
“Shut it down,” The General said calmly as he began to head for the door.
“Sir...” The Doctor started. “It was one failed experiment, this could be the weapon that wins the war.”
“Do you have a vaccine against this?” the General asked bluntly.
“No, but it’s only a matter of time. If Dr. Mann had one then there is no reason to believe that we can’t do the same.”
“Listen, Arnstein, it was rumored that he was working on a vaccine. We don’t actually have any proof that he had any success with it. All I know is there was something he didn’t want us to have.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Dr. Arnstein said, alarmed. “Wasn’t he a patriot?”
“I have a feeling, Dr. Arnstein, that he was thinking on a much grander scale than just the United States. Maybe he knew just how virulent these things are and what they could do. I think I have to agree, I’d rather lose the war than subject any other human to that,” the General said, pointing into the devastation. “Shut it down,” he said even more quietly but with more force as he walked away.
“He said shut it down, not destroy it,” Dr. Arnstein murmured to himself as he closed the control room door behind him.
* * *
2007 - Palace Hills, Michigan
“So the plan is set then?” Senator Deneaux asked the four men sitting around the large mahogany table in the basement of his Palace Hills mansion.
“Yes sir, we have a man on the inside and he has given us access cards to Level Six,” Senator Hawthorne told the men at the table.
“When will this happen?” an older heavyset man asked, his face mostly obscured by the white mask he wore.
“Tuesday, at 20:00,” the Senator told the professor.
“To the new world order then,” the leader at the table said as he raised his glass high. The four other men followed suit.
“Yes, Mr. President,” they said as one, downing the bitter Absinthe.
* * *
Tuesday 19:58 - Utah Flats Salt Mine - Army Base Designated WH-17A.
The six man strike team approached the main entrance from the North in a large 2.5 ton troop transport truck. Sergeant Decker climbed down from the truck and strode over to the corporal standing at attention before the gate.
“Hey Decker, I don’t show any deliveries on the manifest,” Corporal Manning said as he acknowledged the sergeant.
“Damn shame Manning, I really kind of like you, and I feel really bad your kids are going to be orphans.”
“What?!” Corporal Manning asked, looking down to see the standard issue Colt .45 his sergeant carried leveled on his chest. His last cognitive thought revolved around how hot the bullet felt as it splintered his sternum.
Sergeant Decker stepped over the still warm body of Corporal Manning and entered the codes in that would allow the twenty feet wide by thirty feet high nuclear bomb blast doors to swing open. He dragged the corporal’s body behind a stack of crates labeled ‘Hieroglyphics’ so it wouldn’t be discovered until it was too late. Then he climbed back up into the driver’s seat. The truck drove in unimpeded. Army personnel walked about doing the jobs assigned to them, unaware that a wolf had just entered into the sheep pen. The members of the strike team in the back of the truck tensed up for action. Though they were all American born, and members of various services they had no problem with potentially killing their fellow country-men, the mission they were on transcended allegiances. It went far beyond flags and borders. The destruction of man as a dominant force on the planet was for the betterment of all that would survive the coming apocalypse. Life shone on the prepared, was their credo. Their superiors saw it differently but had not deigned them worthy to know their true intentions. Far fewer people on the planet meant more resources and easier control to those that wielded the resources and the power.
The driver and his passenger stayed within the truck as the four men exited the stopped vehicle. They headed for the freight elevator without a moment’s hesitation. It was right where it should be according to the schematics they had received, and they had rehearsed the extraction enough times to know it would be exactly twenty-two steps from the rear of the truck to the doors.
The lead man swiped his card over the reader, the pad illuminated in a soft red color. He swiped it again with the same result. “Flint One, this is Spear Three, we seem to have a problem,” the squad leader said into his throat microphone.
“Wait one, Spear Three. You have company coming your way,” was the answer he received in return.
Lieutenant Daniels, escorted by two MP’s, strode into the midst of the assault team. “You there, let me see your credentials,” the Lieutenant ordered Spear Three.
“Yes, sir,” Spear Three said, snapping to attention. “Hold on, I know it’s in here somewhere,” he said as he felt around in his pockets.
“Hurry up, Gunnery Sergeant,” the Lieutenant said. “I don’t have all day, your access card shows as expired and now I will have to spend the next hour writing a report of how this happened.”
“I do not think that will be necessary,” Spear Three said as he pulled out his silenced Tavor TAR-21. The Lieutenant and the two MP’s did not even have time to register disbelief before their bodies jerked and hit the floor. “Dammit, grab his card and drag the bodies in with us,” Spear Three said as he looked around, trying to decide if anyone else had noticed.
“You are in the clear,” Flint One assured him.
In under thirty seconds they had the bodies in the elevators and were stepping off onto Level 6, which was approximately 100 feet underground. Motion detector lights flickered on as the doors of the elevator opened up.
“Alright, drag those guys out, let’s find this box and get out of here.”
“Wow, this place looks a lot bigger when you’re really inside of it,” the man to the immediate left of Spear Three
said. “Good thing we know where we’re going.”
Spear Three (Gunnery Sergeant Long) didn’t verbalize his response but his affirmative nod spoke volumes. ‘This can’t be this easy,’ he thought as he passed containers labeled ‘Cold Fusion,’ ‘100 mpg engine,’ and ‘Excalibur.’ That last one made him stop and shake his head.
“Code name you think?” Spear Four (Corporal Gantner) asked.
“I don’t know, but I sure wish we had the time to figure it out,” Gunney said as they moved on down the aisle.
The container labeled HM103 was exactly where their plant had said it would be. Gunney turned and nodded once to their third team member, Lance Corporal Rawlings.
Rawlings ran down the aisle to retrieve a forklift that was housed at the end of each long column of deep dark governmental secrets. Within a minute he was back. The fourth and final member of the team, PFC Clemens hopped on the tines of the machine as Rawlings hoisted him into the air while Gantner kept a watchful eye out.
“Holy Shit, Three, there’s a box next to the one we came for marked ‘Vampirism!’”
The Gunney shuddered involuntarily. “Just grab 103 and let’s get out of here, because if I see Bigfoot I’m probably going to shit myself.”
Clemens balanced himself and the container on the tines as Rawlings lowered him carefully.
“This thing volatile?” Clemens asked the Gunney.
“Shit if I know, but we’ll assume that to be the case,” he answered.
“Roger that,” Clemens said as a fine filament of sweat formed on his brow in the steady 65 degree dry atmosphere.
Ten minutes later they were back in the elevator, heading up.
“I should have grabbed Excalibur,” the Gunney said.
“Fancy yourself to be King Arthur then?” the Corporal asked playfully.
“…trouble… watch…” (gun fire)
All smiles vanished from the team’s faces as they came to their departure point. Bullets dented the metal doors of the elevator inward, the container was struck several times as the doors struggled to open under the hail of lead.
The team quickly regrouped and returned fire, the TAR-21’s alarming rate of cyclical fire quickly overpowering the slower M-16’s. Not that that was the only advantage, it would take more than a platoon of National Guardsmen in a cushy post to take out a well-trained battle hardened special forces team. Within five minutes whichever Guardsmen weren’t dead or dying were rounded up and unceremoniously locked in the supply closet. The only casualty to the special forces team was Flint One (Staff Sergeant Nefrum) who had gotten a piece of glass lodged in his cheek when he dove out of the door and came into contact with the offending shard from his blown out rear view mirror.
As the truck left the installation, Clemens opened up the box to see what they had risked their lives for and what damage had been done to the contents from the bullets.
“Is this stuff toxic?” he asked, peering into the container.
“Are you dead yet?” Corporal Gantner asked.
“Funny. But we’ve got at least one broken vial inside.”
The Gunney pushed in on his throat phone. “Sky Two, this is Spear Three, we have content disturbance, please advise.”
“Spear Three, this is Sky Two. This is a level 10 threat, do not, repeat do not touch the contents, it must make no contact with skin. Bag it in a level 5 Haz-Mat container as soon as possible. If contact is made with any of your party, immediate action must be taken to stop the host of the pathogen to prevent spreading. Over.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Clemens said as he put the box down quickly.
“It means you had better check those bullet holes to see if any liquid has seeped through,” the Corporal told him
“Fuck that, have Rawlings do it. I’ve been holding this damn box for the last ten minutes.”
“Exactly, so what’s a few extra seconds,” Corporal Gantner said, leveling his gun on Clemens. “Besides, you’re the lowest ranking, which gives you the distinction of being the guinea pig.”
“Wonderful, Gantner, I always knew you were a prick,” Clemens said sourly.
“Check the box!” the Gunney said forcefully.
After a minute of careful inspection, Clemens looked up. “All clear,” he said just as his body went into convulsions. The violence of his spasms made the truck sway as it ambled down the road. Gunney Long shot Clemens twice once in the heart which seemed to have little or no affect and once in the head that seemed to solve all of the problems.
Lance Corporal Rawlings sat wide eyed as his friend’s blood seeped onto the metal floor of the truck, and all he could think was that he was thankful that he had scored high enough on his physical fitness test to earn that promotion, or that could quite possibly be him lying on the floor.
* * *
He held up a vial that contained no more than 4 cc’s of a viscous clear solution. “All that money and training for this!” Colonel Montgomery said, never mentioning the men that had died to protect it or the man on his special forces team that had died liberating it.
“You hold our future in your hand, you cannot put a price on that,” Senator Deneaux told the Colonel. “And I would be very careful, the last man that touched that ended up being shot and then incinerated.”
Colonel Montgomery did what most people would do in that situation; he put the vial back. “When do we use it?” the colonel asked, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“When the opportunity presents itself. That is all, Colonel, you and your team have done admirably and will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts.”
“Thank you Senator,” the Colonel said as he left the paneled room.
“What do YOU think Senator, was it worth the price?” his long standing Aide Jack Sughrue asked.
“Ask me again when only one in five people are left standing, and they are all clambering to do our bidding if only we will stop the plague that has been unleashed upon them.”
“Can we stop it?” Jack asked the Senator. “Wasn’t Mann working on an antidote or something?”
“That’s a myth. Our best minds of today cannot unlock the secret, there is no way he did back then with their limited technology. And if he had, wouldn’t he have wanted to show the world just that!”
“Maybe he was afraid that if we had a vaccine we would use it without impunity against our enemies.”
“Perhaps, but I think it is far more likely he had no idea what to do with it.”
“What guarantees our safety, Senator?”
“Preparedness Jack, preparedness.”
“We will release Hell on the World with one hand and on the other we will promise Salvation. It is such a beautifully wonderful plan. We the Illuminati will seize control of the destiny of all mankind. We will right the ship that has gone so far off course. From the ashes of devastation a New World Order will be established and it will be Utopian!”
But what happened was not Hell, Hell is a punishment for a life squandered in evil ways. HM103 was an abomination upon all life. From the ashes of the destruction only fire and misery would arise; the New World Order would be as dead as the monsters it had created. In two short years Illuminati scientists would discover a way to mass produce the Hugh-Mannites and create enough havoc and hysteria with the H1N1 virus as to be able to taint the world’s supply of influenza shots. What was born from their grandiose plans of world domination was the Zombie Fallout.
Check out these other titles by Mark Tufo
Zombie Fallout
It was a flu season like no other. With fears of contracting the H1N1 virus running rampant through the country, people lined up in droves to try and obtain one of the coveted vaccines. What was not known, was the effect this largely untested, rushed to market, inoculation was to have on the unsuspecting throngs.
Within days, feverish folk throughout the country, convulsed, collapsed and died, only to be re-born. With a taste for brains, blood and bodies, these modern day zombies scoured th
e lands for their next meal. Overnight the country became a killing ground for the hordes of zombies that ravaged the land.
This is the story of Michael Talbot, his family and his friends. When disaster strikes, Mike a self-proclaimed survivalist, does his best to ensure the safety and security of those he cares for. Can brains beat brain eaters? It's a battle for survival, winner take all!
Zombie Fallout 2: A Plague Upon Your Family
Zombies have destroyed Little Turtle, the Talbot’s find themselves on the run from a ruthless enemy that will stop at nothing to end their lineage. Here are the journal entries of Michael Talbot, his wife Tracy, their three kids Nicole, Justin and Travis. With them are Brendon, Nicole's fiancée and Tommy previously a Wal-Mart door greeter who may be more than he seems. Together they struggle against a relentless enemy that has singled them out above all others. As they travel across the war-torn country side they soon learn that there are more than just zombies to be fearful of, with law and order a long distant memory some humans have decided to take any and all matters into their own hands. Can the Talbots come through unscathed or will they suffer the fate of so many countless millions before them. It's not just brains versus brain-eaters anymore. And the stakes may be higher than merely life and death with eternal souls on the line.
Zombie Fallout 3: The End…
Continues Michael Talbot's quest to be rid of the evil named Eliza that hunts him and his family across the country. As the world spirals even further down into the abyss of apocalypse one man struggles to keep those around him safe. Side by side Michael stands with his wife, their children, his friends and the wonder Bulldog Henry along with the Wal-Mart greeter Tommy who is infinitely more than he appears and whether he is leading them to salvation or death is only a measure of degrees.