Zombie Fallout (Book 13): The Perfect Betrayal

by Tufo, Mark

  “Podo,” he said the ferret’s name once he felt he wasn’t trying to swallow his own heart. His mother had named the ridiculous animal after the Beastmaster movie…she’d said she couldn’t stand the film, but the ferret itself was the cutest thing she’d ever known. She’d litter-trained the small beast and it had the run of the house, even had a specially designed bed that was right next to his parents’. She would have allowed Podo into the bed if she wasn’t worried about her infamously heavy-sleeping husband rolling on top of her. Podo ran to the basement door and sniffed it, then did something uncharacteristic; her back hunched up and the fur bristled. She slowly backed up before turning and coming to look over Jake. She pawed at his face and chirped excitedly. Jake hadn’t known it at the time, but that small animal had effectively saved his life. The basement door had not latched properly, and it was not the hellish countenance of his father that came through, but rather the dreadful face of his mother that peered around the doorframe, covered in blood and gore. She’d finished off her husband and now came to complete the ghastly Greek tragedy. The name Jacosta popped into his frantic mind; he wasn’t sure where he’d learned the term, probably from the pornography sites of his second favorite pastime. He pulled himself up, first with the cabinet handle and then the countertop. His mother had pulled herself completely up the stairs; she stopped to quench her thirst by licking up Jake’s offering of mucous and salty tears. Somehow, that was even more disgusting to Jake than when she'd ripped through his father’s neck.

  Podo by this time had taken off to hide. Jake thought briefly about looking for her, but self-preservation won out. He grabbed the keys to his mother’s Subaru and headed for the garage. Beyond his own desperate thoughts, he could hear the small war being waged all around him. He kept his head low, fearful a stray bullet would find its way to him. To survive all he’d been through thus far just to end up dead from friendly fire, well, that was a different sort of Tragic Comedy. Luck had been on Jake’s side in vast quantities, he’d driven until he’d run out of gas, coasting into a military checkpoint. Three soldiers had approached the car, their rifles pointed at him. He’d had enough sense to raise his hands off the steering wheel and show that they were empty.

  “Are you bit!?” the one closest had asked. “Are you infected?”

  “No. No to either,” Jake had called through the glass.

  “Roll down your window slowly.” The soldier came closer. With the barrel of his weapon no more than two inches from Jake’s head, the soldier had leaned in and taken a look inside the car and then at Jake himself. “What unit are you in?” he’d asked.

  Jake had a moment of confusion until he realized he’d been in his most comfortable gaming attire, an old pair of ACUs, Army combat unit pants, and a green PT, physical training shirt. “First infantry division.” Wisely, he left off that he’d been kicked out.

  “Got a soldier here!” The one closest had waved over to another squad member manning a machine gun in a hastily built, sandbag bunker. “Follow Perkins here. She’ll make sure you get geared back up. There’s a mass of infected civilians heading this way and we’ve been tasked with holding them here. I’m Sergeant Golden.”

  “Corporal Collier.” Shit, he thought, could have been any rank I wanted.

  “Glad to have you here, Collier. Hurry back.”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he followed Perkins to the back of a large military truck; it was overflowing with gear, rifles and ammunition.

  “Find what fits, get back to the line,” she told him, standing aside.

  He took his time finding the right sized clothing and boots, hoping an opportunity would present itself where he could find a way out of this particular scenario.

  “Let’s go, they’re coming!” Perkins yelled at him. Instead of rushing off, she’d stayed. Something in the way she watched him made him sure that she knew him for what he was: a sham of a soldier, desperate to shirk any duties that would find him in the crosshairs of the enemy. “You stay with me,” she nodded at him, “I’ll make sure you’re all right.” She waited there until he got in front of her.

  “Here they come!” Sergeant Golden had needlessly shouted out. A mob of over five hundred zombies were walking straight toward the checkpoint. As many as a hundred of the uninfected were running just ahead of the mob toward the safety of the soldiers. “Can’t let them through!” the sergeant yelled.

  “Which ones?” Collier asked.

  “Any of them.” The sergeant grimaced. “No time to see if they’ve been bitten and my orders were very specific.”

  “Wait…” Perkins looked over to her sergeant.

  “Light them up!” Golden ordered. The first to heed the order was the fifty cal machine gunner. The damage was horrific; an abominable act of carnage as the bodies of civilians and zombies alike were obliterated. Collier had to be smacked on the shoulder to start firing, he’d been watching as death was dealt indiscriminately. It was one thing when it was done from the comfort of a couch, using a game controller; this was not like that at all. The civilians, realizing that there would be no quarter from that escape route, turned in panic and headed back into the teeth of the enemy. What had already been atrocious, moved swiftly into heinous.

  “Fuck!” Perkins shouted next to Collier. Her hand was at her shoulder; when she pulled it away, it was covered in blood. The citizens who had been seeking sanctuary were now firing back upon the soldiers, exacting a small measure of revenge. Collier watched as he saw multiple muzzle flashes, all directed toward their thin green line. Soldiers were taking cover or falling over with wounds. With every delay, every soldier lost, the zombies made up ground. The machine gunner was switching out barrels, his first too hot to keep firing rounds. It was taking longer than expected because shots were heading his way, aimed to take out the biggest threat.

  Zombies were impartial with who they attacked: armed civilians, unarmed, injured, soldiers…they were an equal opportunity devourer. Rifle fire had been the dominant sound when the battle had commenced; that was now being rapidly displaced by the screams and cries of those injured or being eaten. By the time Perkins was descended upon, all Collier could hear were the sounds of flesh being torn and chewed. Then he ran, as far away from there as he could. He’d gone maybe two miles before he slowed to a trot, a walk, and then stopped. He dropped the empty rifle to the ground, put his hands to his knees, and winced in pain from the blisters his new boots had created.

  When a squad from Bennington’s first team found him a week later, he was dangerously dehydrated, suffering from exposure, and fighting through an infection caused by his bleeding feet. They’d almost shot him, believing him to be a zombie.

  “Not…infected,’ he said through parched, cracked lips as he collapsed to the ground on his knees.

  “Who are you?” they asked as they helped him into the bed of their deuce and a half.

  “Corporal…Collier,” he said, after taking a large swig of water. As he was coughing the majority of it up, he once again berated himself for not giving himself a promotion.

  “We’ll get you fixed up, Collier. We’re fighting back. Colonel Bennington, our leader, he’s going to win this.” Lance Corporal Breckert was looking down upon his charge. “Slower on the water. I’ll get you some food when I’m sure you can hold this down.”

  Collier’s stomach twisted in knots just thinking about eating something; he could not tell if it was a profound yearning for sustenance or disgust at the thought. Three days later, he was released from the camp medical tent. He was at first assigned to cataloging the weapons and ammunition that were constantly being requisitioned; from there it was a natural progression that he would begin to fix the broken weapons. He studied harder than he had ever before, knowing full well that those that worked on the firearms were not required to fight, and after what he’d been through, he was just fine with that. Jake liked handling the guns, and his post had been pretty cushy. He had a little black-market side business, bootleggin
g his modest, video game collection, he’d been acquiring since the beginning. It was the Lemon Queen that had fucked that up for him. He never blamed his avarice or greed, only Deneaux.

  The sun was near to setting and he’d not moved much since he’d taken the journey down memory lane. He scoffed at that thought. “Lane makes it sound like a walk in the park on a crisp October day. More like a trudge on a goat path on the side of a mountain, on fire.” He shielded his eyes to the setting sun. Off in the distance he thought he saw a structure; he didn’t think he’d make it there before it was dark, but he felt better for having a destination. “I’ll get a good night’s sleep, find a ride, and then I’m coming for you, Talbot.”

  Collier figured he was halfway there when the lights went out on the day. “Shit,” he mumbled, “wasn’t expecting it to be this dark.” He was fearful that he’d veered off from his target. With no landmarks or line of sight to guide him, he was helpless and hopelessly lost. “What the hell do I do now?” He looked up to the cloud-covered sky, wondering where the moon was. He didn’t like the idea of bedding on the ground with all manner of creatures. He highly doubted there was anything venomous around, but who wanted to take that risk? “This sucks,” he lamented. He was so tired he didn’t know what to do. He thought right now he might even confess his dirty deeds, if only the lieutenant would save him. He had just sat down when a glint of light pierced the darkness. He barely saw it through his peripheral vision, or he likely would have missed it entirely.

  “Fire means people and food. Could even be Talbot feeling bad for leaving me out here. I might punch one eye out before I hug him.” He stood up awkwardly, already having to break through the lactic acid that had built up in his legs. He’d traveled a couple hundred yards when another fire was lit. He thought it strange, but just figured that meant more people, and more people meant more food. His steps faltered as the third torch erupted in flame. He was close enough now to realize that it was indeed a torch, and not a ground flame. He was wondering if they were setting up a perimeter or were getting ready to send out a search party. He thought that nobody in their right mind would use flame which could be visible for miles for a defensive posture—unless they were so abundantly arrogant or utterly confident in their ability to keep everything at bay. “Either way, I’m in,” he voiced, though he was not walking with quite as much vigor as he had been when he started.

  By the time it got to thirteen lit torches, he stopped. He’d been getting whiffs of some unpleasantness when the wind was just right, but now, as he stood upon a small knoll, he was looking at a sea of heads. What he’d first figured were small torches were actually huge drums full of lamp oil, sitting atop thick poles. “For what purpose?” He cocked his head. He noticed a makeshift stage; a tall man stood upon it. The audience was rapt, all eyes upon him, yet he said nothing. Collier moved closer, just as the direction of the wind turned. He now knew what he was looking upon, but instead of receiving any clarification, he was even more confused. Those weren’t people; not anymore. He found that his legs were working on their own volition and not for his behalf, as he was still moving closer to the horde.

  “Come closer, friend.” A soothing voice had inserted itself smoothly into the folds of his mind, so seamlessly he’d mistakenly believed it to be his own thought.

  “Why would I say that?” He questioned himself, working through the subliminal message to halt his forward progress. He saw that the back few rows of the throng were now turning toward his approach. “Fuck.” The spell broken, he started running, stumbling through shallow depressions and the unevenness of the terrain, but still, he sped on, knowing that to stop was a death much like his father had received at the mouth of his mother, and okay, maybe one he’d deserved right from the beginning. His right knee screamed in protest as he stepped on the downside of a small slope, the hyper-extension flexed his ACL to the point of snapping. It was an injury he would have to deal with when, and if, he made it through the night. Every stride became more painful as the ligament tore further with each stride. He was unsure of how much farther he could travel. He dared not look behind him to see if he was being pursued. If he fell, he did not believe he would be able to get back up. He was to the point of collapsing, and still he ran, even getting a surge of adrenaline to push him faster. The night was so dark, he’d somehow missed seeing the tree and the branch that struck him across the throat. His mind became as shadowy as the evening. He had the sense of bouncing along, but could not come up far enough from the depths of his unconsciousness to figure out what was going on, or even muster the inclination to do so.

  Jake awoke with a start some hours later. There was an inkling that the sun would be showing itself soon, as he saw a thin ribbon of light upon the horizon.

  “What the hell?” He sat up; his head swam. His throat was tender where it had collided with the branch, his neck stiff from the injury, his head pounding. And the way he’d slept, everything hurt. He turned slightly, figuring he’d see Talbot’s squad. He’d not at all been expecting the sight he gazed upon. He scurried back from the beast before him.

  “Gorilla?”

  The animal turned at the sound. Collier watched with incredulity as the animal signed. “Iggy.”

  “Iggy? You a circus animal?”

  “Iggy.” The beast signed again. He seemed mildly surprised the human understood.

  “Did you save me?” Collier asked.

  “Saved you from the dead ones,” Iggy signed.

  “Thank you,” Collier mouthed slowly, thinking that was a reasonable way to communicate with an animal that used sign language. He understood sign language better than he could do it himself; it was far from perfect on either end. His mother’s friend was Italian; she’d suffered an accident that had left her nearly deaf, but she’d already used her hands to speak for most of her life. The transition had not been difficult.

  “Saved you for me,” Iggy replied.

  “Thank you,” Collier repeated. Not grasping the nuance.

  “Hungry, always hungry,” Iggy signed.

  Collier mistakenly assumed that the gesture was asking if he was hungry. “I am, I am hungry,” he said, and mimicked the movements, thinking that the gorilla was going to produce a hidden pouch of food he could eat from.

  “Where from?” Iggy was curious.

  “Etna,” Collier signed and spoke aloud.

  “More like you?”

  “Much,” Collier signed; he’d been trying for “many.”

  “Stupid.”

  Collier just nodded, not knowing that particular word.

  “Where Etna?” Iggy asked.

  “Don’t know where I am,” Collier replied.

  “You are here; how not know?” Iggy replied.

  “I don’t understand,” Collier said aloud. “Get me back to Etna, and I’ll get you food and a…cage.” He’d attempted to say “room” and missed the mark.

  Iggy stood, beat his chest and roared, “No cage, never again!” He was incensed as he stomped around and beat at the ground. Collier shied away, as occasionally Iggy would come close before retreating. The large animal was once again about to charge before he stopped suddenly, and his head rose. His large, wet nostrils opened and closed as he sampled the air. “The dead ones come.”

  Collier got the gist of that meaning. Even if he hadn’t, it would have been difficult to ignore the smell that preceded them. Iggy chuffed and somehow made himself look bigger—intimidation did not work on the dead ones, and he knew this, but it was difficult to go against one’s instinctual nature. The first zombie came straight at Collier. Iggy wrapped a large hand around its neck and squeezed hard, turning its throat to pulp with a loud squelching sound. Blood and tissue compressed to its bursting point flowed from the zombie’s open mouth. Collier gulped down hard at the sight and the sound. The next zombie collided with the great ape, biting into the animal’s forearm. Iggy screamed out in pain and rage, his fist driving down so hard on the dome of the zombie’s head it sna
pped the neck in three places. The zombie’s head fell to the side, its knees and legs giving out as it collapsed to the ground.

  Iggy picked it up by the head and spun twice before tossing the body some thirty feet away. He barely had time to spare a glance at the blood dripping from his fur, when another zombie penetrated their clearing. The gorilla had made it clear that this place was his domain, though the fouled men would not yield. He roughly grabbed the zombie’s shoulder with his right hand. He wrapped his left completely around the head and then he pulled his arms apart. There was a loud ripping sound as skin, ligaments, blood vessels and muscles tore. A jagged wound appeared on the zombie’s neck that steadily increased in size. Collier could not believe what he was seeing. The gorilla was tearing a zombie in two with his bare hands. The sounds of the skeletal structure snapping and the dewy noises of soft tissue being rent was making Collier sick to his stomach; he vomited up a small pile of bile. His head sagged toward the small puddle of steaming stomach liquid. He looked up just in time to see the zombie’s internal organs fall all around the macabre scene, as the torso and midsection were torn. Iggy did not stop until he had two separate halves, one in each hand, which he waved around triumphantly, sloshing all manner of entrails around in the air, a fair amount landing on and near Collier, who once again heaved.

  The half in his right, he swung around, stopping the next zombie. The left, he beat against the ground until he was only holding the skull and a portion of the white, glistening spine that somehow sparkled in the rising sun. The stunned zombie righted itself quickly enough, but was met with an arm chop to the chest that caved in its rib cage, driving it backward and to the ground where Iggy pounced and beat his fists into its head until there was nothing left except the stain of its existence. When he was done and sure no more were coming, he stood, beat his chest fiercely and roared. Collier was terrified at the devastation wrought and also thankful the animal had saved his life. Iggy turned toward Collier, whose heart felt like it was now encased in a brick of dry ice. The sun was shining brightly and it would be extremely difficult not to realize something was wrong with the gorilla. Its eyes were opaque, its fur was matted, dull, and coated in blood. There were patches of exposed ribcage where the fur had fallen out, and Collier, while not precisely sure the color of a gorilla’s flesh, did not believe it to be the dreary gray he was seeing.