Primus Unleashed

by Amber Wyatt

  Then questing mouths were on him, on his neck, on his back, on his scalp and the teeth suddenly ripped into his skin and ground along his skull. Unbearable agony exploded all over his body as they bit down on every part of him.

  And he screamed as the suit came apart and they pulled off his hood. He screamed shrilly and hoarsely as they tore off his face, chewed down on to soft genitals and bit the fingers from his struggling hands as he tried to push them away. He screamed as they broke open his ribcage and a dozen mouths scrambled to feast on the stinking, blood-rich contents of his torn stomach.

  And he kept on screaming as they ate him. The suit is confusing them, was the last lucid thought that he had, slipping through his agony. Instead of killing him quickly, the shrouding folds and the hood prevented them from identifying his vital organs. The bastards took a long time.

  “Not one of us,” the clear, high-definition image of the undead policeman said, pointing directly at the camera.

  “Fucking hell.” Indika whispered in awe, gaze riveted to the screen of his laptop. He had already watched the full footage from the camera three times, and now he was just watching the same five second clip over and over. He rewound to the relevant timepoint and pressed play again.

  “Not one of us,” said the zombie to Indika.

  Fucking hell.

  He wished that the second police car, sent out to investigate the disappearance of the first, had not been full of trigger-happy cops who had shot and killed every infected that they had found up at the bridge. The undead policeman, the infected that had killed him, and even the teenage film-maker who had died screaming and then risen to his feet to join his killers; they all would have been priceless specimens for his research. But at least Waste Management had recovered the kid’s cameras and delivered them to Indika as per protocol. It was a huge stroke of good fortune that he had managed to acquire this unique footage.

  Indika knew what he was seeing but he could not believe it. The potential this film showed him… he could not even find the words to begin to explain it. If the zombies were actually capable of rational thought, of maybe even remembering pre-death events, and were capable of communication amongst each other, this opened up a world of opportunities far beyond the narrow vision of General White’s military dreams. They could be a new species, maybe even the next step of human evolution; tireless, immortal, immune to disease and hunger.

  All through the night Indika watched the clip, his brow furrowed in thought as his mind roamed down the countless avenues of unrealized and sometimes troubling possibilities.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zombie Lives Matter

  Miami. Sixteen miles south of the Quarantine Zone.

  Although the buffet lunch at Angelo’s on South Beach was hideously expensive, it was still packed with a queue waiting out the front despite an attractive young hostess at the door informing new arrivals that the waiting time was over an hour. Behnke and his team had decanted from his private jet directly into a fleet of waiting limousines, and had driven straight to the restaurant. As they pulled up in front of Angelo’s, Thomas was pleased to see that Behnke’s PA and one of his security team were waiting for them at the front of the restaurant as per protocol. The man had already called Thomas to let him know that he had checked that the restaurant was clear of both general security threats and the updated list of Behnke-stalkers. Behnke’s table and that corner of the venue had also been swept for any listening devices other than the restaurant’s usual security cameras. An experienced counter-terrorism specialist, the only threat Thomas seemed to face nowadays was the paparazzi trying to catch an unguarded stock tip from his employer.

  Behnke and his entourage walked straight past the long line of waiting customers, ignoring their hostile stares and were immediately seated at the best booth in the restaurant. It was airy, spacious and the tall, open French windows let in plenty of sunlight as well as offering unparalleled views of the beachfront outside.

  They were seated at one end of the buffet bar, close to the low stage occupied by a female quartet. Three attractive women with identical black bangs punched out a catchy melody on their instruments, while the fourth in a platinum-blonde wig, wailed into the microphone. Behnke had a word with the server taking their drinks orders and a minute later the noise stopped as the band announced that they would be taking a break between sets. There was relative peace as the restaurant was suddenly alive with the clatter of expensive crockery and the understated babble of the rich and beautiful.

  Behnke stayed seated, hunched over a tablet talking logistics for the expedition with Thomas and a duo of attentive PA clones, but the rest of the group made for the buffet and started loading their plates high with the finest food Miami had to offer. Wilkins and Tristan in particular looked as if they were having a competition to see who could load the most meat on to their plates.

  Behnke looked up in annoyance as someone started playing the piano again. He thought he had made it clear to the staff that he required silence in order to conduct a business lunch. He started to raise a hand to wave over the manager but then stopped short as the woman playing started to sing. The previous singer had sounded like a sack of drowning kittens. This woman sounded like an angel.

  It also helped that she was petite, Asian, and one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. She wore a long, emerald green dress, that covered her completely, but it could not hide a stunning, athletic figure that belonged on a swimsuit model. Realizing that Behnke was no longer paying attention to the logistics spreadsheet, Thomas turned around to see what Behnke was staring at and grunted in astonishment.

  “It’s Gina.”

  “Who?”

  “Who? It’s Gina. Gina An.” Thomas could scarcely believe his ears. He knew that his employer was uninterested in the day to day gossip of the celebrity tabloids, but he could not fathom that Behnke did not know who she was. “Juilliard graduate? Was a K-pop star in Korea before she came back to the US ten years ago and became a huge hit?” Thomas looked around puzzled. It was unusual but not uncommon for ‘A’ list celebrities to frequent Angelo’s, but none of the other diners seemed to have noticed that the woman playing the piano was one of the most famous women in the world. Maybe it was because she had just slipped in quietly by herself, without any of the fuss and commotion associated with VIPs.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Behnke was still ogling the woman as she played the piano, her graceful fingers blurring quickly and expertly across the keys. “Is she any good?”

  Thomas realized his mouth was hanging open. “Is she any good? Oh my God are you even listening to this?” he gestured at the singer behind him, “she has five Grammy Awards, six World Music Awards. I think she’s sold a hundred million records worldwide. She’s been voted one of the top 100 music artists of all time. She sang ‘Be Mine Tonight’, it’s a huge hit?” Thomas could scarcely believe that Behnke did not know who she was.

  “Is that the one from the toothpaste commercial?” Behnke looked sideways at his huge head of security. “How come you’re her number one fan?”

  “She’s a huge gay icon, always promoting LGBT causes. And no, it’s not the one from the toothpaste ad,” Thomas glowered down at his boss. His sexuality had been a cause of some early teething problems in their professional relationship. But Behnke had eventually learned to keep his mouth shut, before his own head of security shut it for him.

  “Well, she’s hot. Ask her over for a drink when she finishes her set.” Behnke looked Thomas in the eye, cheerfully ignoring the other man’s scowl.

  Gina did not play any of her own songs, much to Thomas’s surprise, but not to his disappointment either. It was like having a private performance from his favorite singer. She rapped her way through an improvised and edgy version of ‘Summer time’, then sang a selection of what were clearly her own personal favorites, finishing up with a cover of Abba’s ‘Winner Takes It All’ before carefully closing the keyboard lid and standing up. Tho
mas was almost in tears. He clapped enthusiastically, and was rewarded with a warm smile from her, although he was the only one to applaud. The rest of the restaurant customers continued to guzzle down the free-flow champagne, and chat loudly and obliviously amongst themselves. Thomas glared at them all. Savages.

  He managed to put on a professional façade however and approached her to invite her to join Behnke for a drink. Her expression grew guarded, but she looked over at the table, and then to his surprise she shrugged and nodded.

  “Sure, why not?” she sighed.

  As Gina walked away from the piano a waiting server handed her a cup of hot water with a slice of lemon. She thanked him with the flicker of that same warm smile, then sat down opposite Behnke and her face turned serious.

  “So. The great and famous Philip Behnke. What brings you to Miami?” She crossed her legs and sipped from her cup. Her eyes were unreadable, peering at him over the rim.

  “You recognized me then?” Behnke was pleased. He stretched so that she could better enjoy the view of his bulky pecs and his arms bulging through the tight sleeves of his T-shirt. “Have you been following my fight training the last few weeks? There was a lot of coverage online. My team was very happy.” Behnke tried to smiled seductively. The blackened, yellowing bruises around his battered eyes leached away what little warmth the smile may have had, and turned it into a menacing sneer.

  “No, I didn’t see the training,” Gina looked pointedly at his large gut, which was also straining against the cloth of his shirt. “But yes, I did see you get your ass handed to you by the Russian guy last week.” She sipped soundlessly from her cup again. “Looked painful. Ouch.”

  “You should have more respect for a man mounting an expedition into the quarantine zone tomorrow,” Behnke snapped back loud enough for half the tables around them to turn around, prompting Thomas to roll his eyes and wonder why they were bothering with any secrecy in the first place.

  She surprised them both by bursting into a peal of laughter. “You’re going to Zombietown? That’s not the zone! I was just there myself this morning.”

  “Oh really? So were we. I didn’t see you there though.” Behnke replied.

  You would not have, thought Gina to herself.

  Zombietown was the bustling community of shops and street stalls that had sprung up around the dead end where the ten-lane I-95 highway heading north from Miami had been cut off by the border of the quarantine zone. The new I-95 now detoured inland around the zone to re-join its original route 13 miles to the north, but the old highway had never been torn down, in anticipation of a scientific breakthrough which would one day solve the mystery of the Lyssavirus and allow the lifting of the quarantine zone.

  Heading northwards from the blocked off detour, the one-mile section of the old highway towards Fort Lauderdale, which had been designed to carry a hundred thousand vehicles a day, now served perfectly to deliver busloads of tourists from around the world to the bustling shopping outlet known as Zombietown.

  There were two zombie theme parks on each side of the main car park (World of Zombies and Zombie Apocalypse) and an outlet mall which competed with the street vendors selling zombie apparel, shot glasses, coffee mugs and other tourist merchandise. Zombietown also hosted the headquarters of the Zombie Lives Matter movement, and two separate branches of the Church of Lyssa, one whose congregation believed the zombies were angels who needed to be saved, and one who believed that the infected were a sign from God that the end times had arrived. At the border itself, the offices of the majority of the state and federal, quarantine related agencies were located, which was the real reason Gina had gone to Zombietown.

  She had left her entourage in Miami, and with only a single bodyguard to accompany her, she had pulled up the hood of her sweat top and walked, ignored and unrecognized, through the street markets until the crossroad at end of the highway, at the Office of Quarantine Zone Immigration. The two of them had to detour around the queue of tourists waiting to take selfies in front of the barbed wire fencing marking the start of the border, and the signs warning of minefields and of a lethal bio-hazard beyond this point.

  “Raj, would you wait out here please,” Gina gestured to her bodyguard. “I will only be a few minutes.”

  “No problem I’ll be right here.” The bearded man looked up dubiously at the sign above the doorway. The agency dealt with those residents of Fort Lauderdale who had been outside the city when the quarantine zone had slammed down, who wished to apply for permission to move back into the zone. Raj wondered what the hell Gina wanted in there. Her close family was back in Korea, and as far as he knew, she had always lived in Miami.

  The man behind the desk looked up from his screen in surprise when the doors opened and Gina walked in. Federico had been working in the office for nearly four years, since the quarantine had been imposed, and the vast majority of those wanting to enter the zone had done so within the first few months. Not that there had been that many in the first place. In point of fact there had been a huge number of those caught outside the zone who had simply started new lives outside, leaving behind families, jobs, and angry, newly divorced spouses. In the early days there had also been an unbelievable number of idiots entering his office to complain that if people could apply to enter the zone to reunite with their families, then why could people within the zone not apply to leave quarantine and join their families outside?

  Now though, most days Federico could sit there an entire shift without anyone walking through those doors. Maybe once or twice a week he would get a tourist from Zombietown, and once a month a total nutcase would walk in and waste half an hour of his time asking the usual stupid questions about getting into the zone before wandering out again. A small, but still worrying proportion of the crazy ones were violent. But this lady did not look the type. He removed his hand from the security alarm button under his desk, and pasted a professionally bland smile on his face.

  Gina pulled her hood back, and took off her shades. Federico’s bored expression brightened up considerably. If you were going to have to spend your day dealing with crazy tourists, at least it helped if they looked like young, beautiful cheerleaders. She looked vaguely familiar somehow. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all. “Good morning, my name is Federico, how can I help you today, ma’am?”

  “I would like to emigrate permanently into the quarantine zone,” Gina was surprised at how steady her voice was.

  Federico’s eyebrows rose with interest as he reached into a tray to withdraw an eighteen-page application form. It was a damn shame that such an attractive woman wanted to emigrate to the zone. It had been several months since the last applicant and he had to think for a moment before he remembered the standard questions. “Are you yourself a Zone Displaced Person, or do you have any family members, real estate or other property, or business interests within the quarantine zone, or do you have any Native American heritage relating to the Seminole tribe?”

  “No. None.” Gina replied, “no to all of the above.”

  “Prior address in Fort Lauderdale?” His fingers were poised over his keyboard.

  “I have never lived in Fort Lauderdale.” She saw the bored expression come back down like a shutter over the man’s face. Yup, that’s me. Just another crazy zombie fan. Gina’s lips twitched into a smile. This guy had probably seen plenty of lunatics fly in from around the world, demanding to be let into the zone. Hell, there were probably thousands just from Florida.

  Federico paused for a second. The woman really did not sound that unbalanced, like some of the characters that had wandered through the doors, but you never could tell. His gut instinct told him that she was lucid and intelligent. “Ma’am, what is your reason for wanting to enter the quarantine zone?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot say. It’s personal.”

  “Okay then,” he sighed in resignation, handing her the thick wad of papers and recited what was obviously a standard script. “Please take a look at this form and fill it i
n as completely as you can, making sure not to miss out any of the boxes. Take special note of the last page which has notes on how to complete this form correctly. If you have any further questions please look at our website which has a comprehensive list of FAQs.” Federico pointed out the website address on the top of the front page. He also took his pen and underlined the mailing address.

  “After filling in the form, you can return it here to this office, or mail it to our head office in Miami. The committee will reply to you within fourteen working days, and if your application is successful, there is a three-month cooling off period to allow you to change your mind. I am required to remind you that immigration into the zone at this current time is likely to be permanent, as there has been no progress on developing a treatment for the Lyssavirus.” Federico’s voice softened a little. “But I have to warn you, without any prior connection to the zone or without a compelling reason to immigrate, due to the logistical burden of supplying the population of the zone with their everyday needs, it is the agency’s standing policy to reject applications.”

  “I understand.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with at this time, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you,” Gina rolled up the form, tucked it inside her jacket, put her hood back up and walked out through the doors. Federico looked after her wistfully, then shook his head and looked back at the Mexican soap opera he had been watching before she came in. Just another day in the office.

  Outside Raj noted his employer’s somber mood and wisely chose to remain silent. Instead he just responded to her curt nod by falling into step beside her as they started to head back through the street stalls. Massed throngs of tourists carrying bags full of zombie merchandise and wearing a wide variety of zombie hats and T-shirts choked the route back through Zombietown, but Gina was in no hurry and walked along with the crowds, deep in thought. Back at the parking lot near the highway they reached the car but before Raj could reach to open the door for her, she brushed past him quickly. “I can open it myself.”