The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  Shit.

  She changed the TV's channel from the cable feed to the local airwaves. They were still up, but the picture was fuzzy and the audio filled with static.

  "City officials ... downtown disturbances ... multiple injuries ... warn people to stay away from ... power down all over—"

  Jen changed to another local channel. The picture had a little snow, but the audio was clear. A female reporter stood in front of the camera. "I'm here in Town Square in downtown Anchorage, where police have cordoned off much of Fourth and Fifth Avenues."

  A line of police stood several yards behind her in full riot gear, their backs to the camera.

  "Word is a crowd of rioters is heading this way down Fifth Avenue. As you can see behind me, the police are prepared to repel them."

  A man's voice came from somewhere near the reporter. "Here they come. Prepare for contact."

  The reporter looked over her shoulder and everything went quiet.

  Great time for the sound to go out.

  Jen turned the volume up all the way. The shuffling of the police officers came through the speakers, so the sound worked. It was as if they all held their breath.

  A high-pitched shriek washed over the police line, followed by a chorus of answering shrieks. It sounded as if hundreds of sets of fingernails were being scratched across a giant chalkboard. How many were there?

  Shrieks turned into a roar. A burly policeman strode into view just as the picture cleared. "Stand your ground!"

  The reporter turned to the camera. "I think we should leave."

  The first wave of yellow-eyed demons slammed into the police line, which bent but held, but only until the second wave hit several seconds later and washed over them. Two zombies tackled the sergeant, one ripping his throat out and the other clamping its jaws on his arm.

  A zombie in a ripped shirt and dirty jeans grabbed the reporter and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed as he ripped a chunk of flesh out and chewed it, looking into the camera just before its signal ended.

  Jen sat, her hands clenched on the chair's seat and her breathing shallow, as the news anchor appeared on screen, his usually carefully coifed hair askew and his eyes wide. "Grab your guns, gather your loved ones, and lock yourselves in." He stood and ripped the mic off his lapel. "I'm going home."

  A voice called out from somewhere in the studio. Jen couldn't make out what was said, but the anchor looked to his left and flipped the bird. "Fuck you. I'm out of here. I'm not sitting at a desk while the end of the world comes."

  He strode out of view. The camera stayed on his empty chair for thirty seconds before the feed switched to commercials.

  Jen charged the door, throwing her body against it. "What the hell's going on out there?" She slammed the door with the base of her palm. "The city's dying. They're coming."

  When no one answered, she rammed her shoulder into the door. "Is there anyone out there? We're in danger."

  Panting, she dropped onto the bed. What would she do when the zombies came? She had no weapons. She looked around. And this damn room is a trap. One way in, one way out.

  The door opened and the guard stood with a tray in his hand. He stepped to the desk and set it down.

  Jen rushed him and rammed him into the desk. He folded over at the waist with an oof. She pushed off him, ran out the door, and stopped. The hall went in both directions, each ending in a turn. There were no doors or windows. Just shiny tile and bright lights and that damn antiseptic smell.

  The guard dashed out the door and slammed her against the wall. Her lungs emptied and she fell to the floor, gasping. He picked her up, tossed her onto the bed, and closed the door. The lock clunked.

  Jen lay on the bed, her heart pounding and sweat trickling down her cheek. She had to get out of there and find her dad.

  She sat up and screamed, "I want to see the person in charge. Now."

  No answer. The damn guard was out there. He'd been out there the whole time. Did that dick ever sleep?

  Soft whistling came from the other side of the door. A snippet of a tune, Jen couldn't quite place it. Something classical. By the fifth time he'd whistled it, she'd had enough, and trudged back to the bed and plopped down.

  Exhausted, she lay back and closed her eyes. She'd need her rest. She'd think better, and fight better, with it.

  The lock clicked and Jen's eyes snapped open. No telling how long she'd been out, and the damn TV didn't work, so she couldn't get the time there.

  The door opened and the guard stood in the doorway, knees slightly bent, arms apart, his eyes scanning the room. He looked like he expected to be jumped. Not so dumb.

  He glanced at her and picked up the lunch tray. He frowned. "You didn't touch this."

  So he does speak. Jen sat up slowly, trying to look as passive as possible. "Been sleeping."

  He nodded. "Then I'll leave lunch and dinner both." He shrugged. "It's not much. Sandwiches. All I know how to make."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You're making my food? What happened to the lunchroom lady?"

  "Gone. All the locals are gone." He placed the second tray on the desk.

  Jen took a deep breath and exhaled. "Please. I need to talk to someone in charge."

  He stepped into the hallway and faced her. "I let him know. He'll see you when he has time."

  He closed and locked the door.

  Stomach growling, Jen sat at the desk and lifted the lunch tray's plate cover. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a bag of potato chips. "I guess cuisine is the first thing to go in an apocalypse."

  She picked up the dinner tray's plate cover and groaned. "Of course. Another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This guy's going to kill me with this crap."

  She ate both sandwiches and inhaled the chips, then opened the refrigerator. Only two more cans of soda. She pulled a can out. Why save them when she could be a zombie by morning?

  An hour later she was running through channels with the remote and having no luck picking up a signal, when the door lock clicked. She put the remote down and turned in the chair. "What now? A midnight snack of peanut butter and jelly?"

  The guard stepped in and to the side. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he gave her no reaction.

  A tall man in his late twenties wearing a white lab coat walked in and peered over his round wireframe glasses at Jen. "Hi, Jennifer," he said in a soft Southern drawl. "I'm Dr. Wilson, but most folks call me Doc. I hear you've been asking to see me." He smiled. "Let's chat."

  4

  Jen jumped to her feet, and the guard stepped between her and Dr. Wilson. The doctor put his arm out. "It's OK, Mark. She just wants some answers, and I've a mind to give her some."

  Mark moved back into the doorway, blocking off her escape. This guy doesn't miss anything.

  Wilson gestured at the chair. "Please, Miss Reed. Have a seat." He glanced at Mark. "I think Mark'll feel a little better if you do."

  Jen eased into the seat. "Where's my dad?"

  "He's here," Dr. Wilson said. "Would you like to see him?"

  Jen smiled. "Yes."

  Dr. Wilson nodded. "Fine. I can make that happen, but I'll also need something from you."

  "What's that?"

  "I need to find out more about your experiences in Point Wallace."

  So she had information he wanted? She had some leverage after all. "There was a fire. We got out."

  Mark stood still as a statue, no expression on his face. He's really soaking everything in. What else has he heard in this building?

  Dr. Wilson sighed. "Really, Miss Reed, I was hoping we could be reasonable. You and I both know what's going on. I'm trying to stop it, and your assistance could be invaluable."

  "And I get to see my dad?"

  He nodded.

  "And we can leave?"

  "If I had my druthers, you could leave right now, but—"

  "But we have the authority to detain you to get the information we need." The sunken-eyed man in the suit sauntered into the
room, his nasal voice irritating her. "Miss Reed, the President of the United States has declared martial law in Alaska, and we will do whatever is necessary to combat and contain the outbreak."

  Dr. Wilson frowned. "Hatcher, why don't y'all chill?" He turned to Jen. "What he said is true, but my concern is you won't be safe. I understand you've seen the local news reports?"

  She nodded. "I have, Dr. Wilson. But how did the zombies get down here? Weren't they all destroyed in the Point Wallace fire?"

  Wilson put a hand up, palm out. "Doc. Please call me Doc. Not all of the zombies were destroyed, but that's not how the virus got here."

  "How, then?"

  "I'll answer your questions and let you see your father if you'll agree to help me. Let me mine your experiences in Point Wallace. Do we have an agreement?"

  Hatcher crossed his arms. "She doesn't have the proper security clearance."

  "I'm giving it to her right now," Doc said. "What do you say, Miss Reed?"

  What did she have to lose? Besides, if it would piss Hatcher off, she was all for it. "OK, but cut the Miss Reed crap. I'm Jen."

  "Good." Doc walked to the door. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

  Jen stood up and took a step toward him. Mark stepped in front of her and Jen put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "No harm. Just want to see my dad."

  Doc walked out the door. "Tomorrow, Miss Reed."

  Mark closed and locked the door. "It's Jen," she yelled through the door.

  Despite having had little sleep, Jen still had trouble dozing off. Funny how she'd lived without her father for all those years and suddenly she couldn't wait to see him again.

  She woke the next morning when the door opened and Mark brought in her breakfast tray. She sat up and yawned. "If you made me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast, I'm going to kick your ass."

  The burly guard cracked a smile and answered, "I made eggs and bacon, but you're welcome to put PB and J on your toast."

  Jen laughed. "I thought the standard food after an apocalypse was canned peaches." She stood and put a hand out. "What's your last name, Mark?"

  Mark stared at her hand, his grin melting.

  Jen sighed. "Oh, come on. Are you afraid of little old me? I just thought we could start over."

  He gave a slight shrug and shook her hand. "Mark Colton."

  "Now when do I get to see my dad?"

  He sighed. "You have a one-track mind, don't you?"

  "And I'm told I'm a little pushy, too. So when do I see him?"

  "Doc will stop by this morning. He'll tell you."

  Jen opened her mouth to protest, but he put a hand up. "He's a busy man, but if he says he'll see you, he'll see you."

  Jen nodded. "Good enough. For now."

  Mark left and Jen dug into her breakfast. She'd just finished when the door opened and there stood Doc. He carried an aura of calm about him. If she didn't already know about the virus, she would've never guessed he was trying to save humanity.

  He leaned against the door frame. "I trust you've had plenty of rest."

  Jen swiveled in the chair. "I got enough." She wasn't going to ask about her dad again. At least, not yet.

  Doc cleared his throat. "Let me give you an abridged version of what's been happening, then you can answer some questions. Fair enough?"

  "OK."

  "The dead are being reanimated and are attacking, infecting, and eating the living. Zombies, some would call them, and it's not an altogether incorrect characterization."

  Jen leaned forward. "Welcome to my world. What can you tell me that I don't know?"

  "It's caused by a virus."

  Jen crossed her arms. "So you get bitten, then you die and come back as one of them."

  Doc squinted. "That's part of it. You don't need to be bitten to be infected, all you have to do is die. It takes a bit longer to reanimate that way, but the results are the same."

  "Don't have to get bitten? How does that work?"

  Dr. Wilson rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure. But it's why I need your help. You're the only person who's observed these creatures up close and has the scientific training to report on them."

  "I'm an environmental scientist. I'm familiar with viruses at a basic level, but not an expert."

  "I need every scientist I can muster," Doc said. "We need to crack this soon, because later may be too late."

  Help stop this nightmare or sit in a room eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until the world ends? Tough choice. "And my dad?"

  "I'll take you to him in a moment," Doc said. "But I need to know something first. Other than with the explosion and fire, were you able to stop any of the infected from the pit?"

  Jen thought back. "Yes, but you had to damage their head. Their brain. I shot some in the head, and other times caved in some skulls. It worked the same way with the locals who'd turned. They just moved faster."

  "Did they?"

  Jen pushed back a strand of her hair. "I think it was because they were fresher, if that makes any sense."

  "It does, indeed."

  Jen stood. "My father."

  Doc stepped to the side and put his arm out. "Of course. After you."

  Jen walked out the door and into the bright hallway lights. Mark stood next to her.

  "You can take a break," she said.

  Doc walked past her, heading down the left corridor. "Where you go, he goes. That's part of the deal I made with Hatcher."

  "I thought you were in charge," Jen said.

  "I am, but I still have to answer to the CDC, and they're the ones who sent Hatcher when this all started."

  Jen shrugged and followed him. If it took having a shadow to get out of solitary confinement, then so be it.

  A man and a woman dressed in scrubs and engaged in deep conversation walked past as Doc led Jen around a corner and to an elevator. The doors opened and she followed him in. The indicator showed they were on the third floor and Doc punched the four. He turned to her. "You'll have the run of the facility except for the first floor and any door marked authorized personnel only."

  "Why the first floor? Don't want me making a run for it?"

  Mark shook his head. "You'd never get out the first floor. We evacuated it and welded all the doors shut two days ago."

  "What the hell for?"

  "It's the only floor with windows," Mark said. "The creatures appear to be attracted by sight and sound. No people visible, no zombies."

  The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Doc strode into the hall and to the right. Jen followed. Mark's footsteps echoed behind her as they walked down the hall.

  Doc stopped at a door with a red sign that said "Authorized Personnel Only." To the right was a large window with blinds.

  He turned to her. "Your dad—"

  "My dad's in there? I want to see him now. No more delays."

  Doc nodded, then gestured to Mark. Mark walked to the end of the window and opened the blinds.

  Strapped in a standing position to a vertical table was her father, his head bowed, clothed in faded green hospital pants and a shirt.

  Doc knocked on the glass and her dad's head jerked up, his yellow eyes burning into Jen's. She stepped back, covering her mouth with her hand, and let out a gasp.

  Her dad let out an ear-piercing shriek.

  5

  Heart racing, Jen stumbled back from the window. Mark dropped the blinds into place.

  Doc put out a hand. "Are you all right?"

  "Dad? He—he was bitten?"

  "No. He was infected, as you are, but he died and was reanimated."

  Mark reached out as if he were going to put an arm around her shoulder, but hesitated and awkwardly dropped it to his side. "I didn't know that was your dad."

  Jen's knees collapsed. Mark caught her and propped her against the wall. Her dad's shrieks died off. She closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks and her body shaking. "What did he die from?"

  "We did an MRI, and his le
ft coronary artery was blocked. He died from a heart attack."

  Recent memories flooded Jen's mind. Her dad holding his left arm close to his body. Him curled up at the bottom of the boat.

  Doc's voice lowered. "I'm sorry, but I didn't know how else to tell you. My granny always said that the best way to remove a bandage is to just yank it off."

  Jen took a deep breath and let it out. Wiping her eyes, she straightened. "Is there somewhere I can sit?"

  "Of course," Doc said. "My lab." He led them down two doors and into a large room filled with expensive-looking electronic equipment Jen couldn't identify, as well as microscopes and Bunsen burners. A sixty-inch monitor, affixed to the wall above a cluttered desk, displayed updated time and weather information.

  Doc led her to a desk near the door and Mark eased her into the chair. He filled a glass from a sink and gave it to her.

  Grateful, she took a sip, then tilted her head back and emptied the glass. "So how the hell did my dad become infected without being bitten? Is the virus airborne?"

  Doc leaned against a counter. "We believe so, although by what mechanism we're not sure. What we have learned is when the virus is transferred through saliva or blood, the effects are almost instantaneous. But when delivered through the lungs, the virus lies dormant until the host is deceased." He frowned. "It takes a little longer for them to turn, but I don't know why yet."

  Something was niggling at the back of her mind. Something that happened recently, but she couldn't quite remember. "What are you doing with my dad?"

  Doc straightened. "First off, we're keeping him as comfortable as possible. We feed him raw meat several times a day." He sighed. "But we needed him. We took blood samples and sent them back to the CDC, where they extracted the virus to use in researching a vaccine."

  Mark took the empty glass from Jen. Her heart leapt. "So you think you can cure him?"

  Doc shook his head. "Dead is dead. But the hope is we can cure the virus that's dormant in the living so they don't reanimate upon death."

  "So you're a virologist?"

  "I'm a behavioral scientist," Doc said. "More of an observer than a doer."