The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

Zeke jumped in front of Jen and knocked the old lady to the floor. She sprung at him as soon as she landed.

  Zeke spun, the katana a blur.

  "No," Jen cried.

  The zombie collapsed at Zeke's feet and its head flew, striking Wayne's chest and bouncing onto the floor. Wayne scrambled backward, brushing his shirt. "Shit!"

  Jen grabbed Zeke by the collar. "What'd you do that for?"

  Zeke's eyes were downcast. "It was Butler. You said he needs to die."

  "I wanted to find out more from him. I need to know why he keeps trying to contact me." Zeke wouldn't meet her gaze. He did what he's always doing—protecting me.

  She released her grip and straightened his collar. "Sorry about the reaction."

  A goofy grin spread across his face. "No worries."

  "What do you mean when you say he keeps trying to contact you?" D-Day asked.

  Jen licked her lips. Zeke and Wayne moved closer.

  "The drones in the CDC basement," she said. "I think Butler could see through them, but he didn't have as much control."

  Wayne rubbed his chin. "But he has clearer communication with leaders?"

  Jen nodded. "I think so. First it was O'Connor and now this old lady. You saw what happened."

  Wayne pointed out the front window. "Look."

  The disciplined army of zombies had turned into an unorganized mob, but still pushed up the street in the direction of the gunshots.

  "That leader must've been directing the drones," Zeke said. "Now they're just a normal, everyday horde."

  D-Day lumbered to the back door. "Then now's the time to leave."

  "Agreed." Jen followed him and stuck her head out of the door. "It's clear."

  She crept into the parking lot and scanned the area. Butler knows where I am. He'll find himself another leader sooner or later and have the whole horde rain down on our heads.

  Jen sprinted to the side of the next building and peered around it. The street was deserted. D-Day pushed up against her. "What do you see?"

  "Nothing." She slinked out from cover. The small one-story building housed a jewelry store. "Nice bars on the window, but can't see shit from there."

  Approaching the building, she craned her neck to get a good look at what lay ahead. Her zombie side went numb. Looks like my spidey senses are tingling again. The barred glass door of the jewelry store slammed open and an older man with balding gray hair, a huge beer belly, and organs hanging from a gash in his side lumbered forward.

  D-Day swung his barrel toward the zombie, Zeke took an attack stance, and Wayne choked up on his bat.

  The zombie stumbled past Jen. She put a hand up and gestured for the others to get back. The zombie seemed locked in on Wayne.

  Jen ran in front of the zombie, blocking it. It stopped and glared, then shuffled around her.

  She jumped in front of it again. "Stop."

  Again, it went around her. Even with my human eye showing?

  "Can I kill it now?" Zeke asked.

  Jen grabbed the zombie and her body convulsed, slamming her to the ground. Her ears buzzed and everything grew darker. The last thing she saw before slipping into unconsciousness was Zeke's worried face hovering over her.

  22

  The buzzing grew louder until it reached a crescendo and became the whispering of a thousand voices. Blackness enveloped Jen—blackness so thick that not even a glint of light appeared.

  What the hell? Am I dead?

  She tried to stretch out her arms and realized she couldn't feel them. Shit. I am dead.

  The whispering faded and a pinpoint of light appeared far away, but it grew as it came toward her. Or am I going toward it?

  The circle of light sped toward her, filling her view then enveloping her in a blinding flash.

  White. Searing white. Then it cooled and shadows appeared, becoming more distinct, until Jen found herself in a conference room, with six of the twelve chairs surrounding the table occupied.

  Jen tried to move her head, look at the people around the table, but nothing she did worked. Like watching a movie.

  A chubby thirty-something man with a shock of red hair adjusted his round wire-framed glasses and leaned forward. "I believe the risks of Project Svengali are unacceptable." He sniffed. "And all the rewards appear to be military." He looked at Jen. "No offense, of course."

  The door opened and two more people took their seats. One of them sat to her right. Her view panned to him. O'Connor.

  Her gaze switched to the other newcomer. Dr. Preston. And where the hell's her wheelchair?

  The redheaded man sighed. "And where's our fearless leader? Isn't our time important, too?"

  The door opened and in strode Dr. Cartwright. "Forgive my tardiness. My call with the president went over its allotted time."

  She sat at the head of the table and scanned the room. "Dr. Morgan. Where is he?"

  Her eyes zeroed in on Jen. A voice rumbled, surrounding her like a theater sound system. "He's in the middle of a necessary procedure and will join us as soon as he can."

  Cartwright stared at Jen, a tic on her eyelid the only thing giving away her thoughts. "Very well," she said. "We shall proceed."

  She nodded at a stick-figure-thin woman to Jen's right. "Williams, I've read your report. Please summarize for those present."

  Williams bit her lip and shuffled a stack of papers in front of her before picking up a few. "We believe we may have found viable hosts."

  She looked nervously at the others and continued. "We scoured our electronic systems for any possible matches. When we found nothing substantial, we were given access to all other government agencies and expanded the search." She pushed her black plastic glasses up her nose. "Still nothing."

  "Get to the point," Cartwright said.

  Williams licked her lips. "We sent teams to government archive sites to go through physical documents that were never digitized. Last week, one of our teams found a promising lead in an old Navy file."

  She looked down at the paper in her hands. "They assigned a naval officer, Dr. Winston Burrell, to a whaling ship in 1871 to observe and gather data on the health of the crew during the voyage. His journal is quite boring until a stopover in Haiti where he writes about a meeting with a Vodou priest, what they called a houngan."

  "A witch doctor," the redheaded man interjected. "Are we here for a ghost story?"

  "Quiet, Dr. Stanley," Cartwright snapped. The redheaded man sat back in his chair and said nothing.

  Cartwright nodded at Williams.

  "Dr. Burrell obtained a powder from the priest that he claimed had restorative properties. The doctor makes note that he tried to buy the powder but the priest refused, saying it was dangerous in the hands of anyone but a priest." She looked up. "The doctor stole the powder.

  "He also notes that the priest had revealed that the person treated with the powder could be controlled by another person, but the doctor discounted that as legend.

  "They sailed off the coast of Alaska, almost reaching Wainwright by August. A stationary high over Siberia reversed the normal wind pattern and pushed the pack ice toward the Alaskan coast. As we know from other historical accounts, seven of the forty ships escaped. The others were trapped in the crushing ice."

  The door opened and Dr. Morgan rushed in. Taking his seat, he looked around at the others. "My apologies. Don't let me interrupt."

  Williams continued, "The men became sick, and lacking the proper medication, Dr. Burrell made a tincture with the powder, dissolving it in some rum he'd obtained in the Caribbean. He gave it to the men."

  Dr. Morgan leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Here's the good part."

  Williams waited. When nothing more was said, she continued. "The men got better for a time, then grew suddenly worse. The first death happened within forty-eight hours. With no place to bury him, they put the man in the hold. When the second man died hours later, they opened the hold to store him there and the first man was alive and crazed. He attacked his
crewmates, ripping the flesh from their bodies and consuming it."

  "Zombies?" Stanley said. "Are you serious? Maybe if you'd gone to a higher-level institution for your studies, you wouldn't be talking about ridiculous things."

  Williams shrank into her seat.

  Morgan clasped his hands and laid them on the table. "She's merely giving you what was written in the reports of the time."

  "Fortunately," Stanley said, "we're far more sophisticated today."

  What an ass.

  "Let her finish." Cartwright nodded at Williams. "Let's wrap it up quickly, shall we?"

  Williams took a deep breath and exhaled. She put the paper down and looked at the others as she spoke. "Dr. Burrell reported them as zombies. His last journal entry revealed that he was the only crew member who hadn't been infected. Other written Navy records reveal that those crew members walked the ice to other ships, infecting their crews. They eventually made their way to the mainland, near a small village called Point Wallace, where they froze in the subzero temperatures."

  "What happened to them?" the rumbling voice asked.

  "The Navy and Army sent men to collect them and bury them nearby beneath the permafrost. And so they remain today."

  Stanley let out a heavy sigh. "I assume the so-called zombies are the hosts."

  "So the plan would be to exhume these zombies?" the rumbling voice asked. "Then what? Bring them here? Isn't that dangerous?"

  "No." Cartwright leaned forward. "Once Dr. Williams discovered this information, we scoured every piece of paper we had and found one more bit of information. It seems the government brought back samples of the zombies and studied them. It wasn't until almost twenty-five years later when science had advanced enough to detect viruses that they used that technology."

  "So it is a virus?" Morgan asked.

  Cartwright nodded. "The samples were destroyed, but the notes indicated it was a mycovirus."

  "It attaches to spores?" Stanley said. "But that only happens with viruses that attack vegetation."

  "Not anymore," Cartwright said.

  "And zombies help us how?" Stanley leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  "Our mission," the rumbling voice said, "is to create the ability to control the troops of our enemies. This will end conflicts quicker without unnecessary risk of our own troops."

  "I'm well aware of that," Stanley snapped. "What the hell do zombies have to do with it?"

  Dr. Morgan removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "Delivery mechanism." He put his glasses back on. "If we come up with a biological method of controlling the enemy, how do we deliver it?"

  "Through zombies?" Stanley sneered.

  "The perfect delivery method," Cartwright said. "They bite and infect others. The outbreak grows exponentially."

  Stanley pursed his lips but said nothing.

  Cartwright stood. "Further discussion is moot. The president has already approved."

  She opened the door and turned, her gaze burning into Jen's. "Colonel Butler, draw up a plan for delivering spores to the mass grave in Alaska. They should be buried with the bodies for eighteen months, then collected. I expect the plan on my desk by the end of the day."

  "Yes, ma'am," the rumbling voice said.

  23

  Jen opened her eyes as far as she could and was barely able to make out D-Day on his bike. The vibrations on her back told her she was in the sidecar. "D-Day," she moaned.

  He didn't react.

  Can't hear me?

  She tried to move, but only managed to raise a pinky finger. What the hell's happening to me? And what about that dream? Or nightmare. I was in Butler's head, for crying out loud.

  Her body spasmed and she sank back into the shadows.

  Arctic wind whipped past Jen's face as she stood in front of a squad of uniformed men digging. She tried to scan her surroundings, but she was back in the theater chair. Shit. Butler again?

  One of the men shoveled up a chunk of earth, then staggered back covering his mouth and nose. The wind drove the scent up Butler's nose and his breath hitched. And I get to smell what he smells. Freaking great.

  Butler wrapped a scarf to cover his mouth and nose and edged to the opening in the ground. "Get some light on this."

  A soldier aimed his flashlight and lit the scene. Yup. That's the sailors' pit.

  Two bearded sailor faces were exposed. One of the soldiers tapped them with a shovel. "Mostly frozen, but they're thawing."

  "Let's get the damn fungus planted and cover them back up," Butler said. "Morgan? Hurry up."

  Morgan, bundled up so Jen could barely make out his face, trudged into view. He removed a clear tube from inside his coat. It was filled with a brownish powder.

  Butler turned around. That's the direction of the village. Can't see a damn thing in this storm. That's how they did this without the villagers knowing.

  Butler turned back to the bodies as Morgan stood. "Get them covered up before this wind blows all the spores away," Morgan said.

  Three soldiers filled in the opening to the pit.

  Butler brought a radio to his lips. "Svengali One to Svengali Two. Ready for pickup."

  The radio squelched. "Roger. Twenty minutes out."

  Butler yelled at the soldiers. "Move your asses. You've got twenty minutes to make it look like no one's been here."

  "Is she going to live?"

  Zeke's voice.

  Jen cracked her eyes open. Zeke sat next to her, looking behind him. "It's my fault," he said. "Never should have let that thing get so close to her."

  "Screw the blame game," D-Day said. "Shit happens. Get over it."

  Zeke pursed his lips.

  "He's right." Wayne's voice came from in front of Zeke. "We just need to concentrate on getting her back to CDC. They'll know what to do."

  "Zeke," Jen breathed.

  Zeke's gaze dropped to her and his face lit up. "Jen! She's awake."

  D-Day's face hovered over her. "Well, Spitfire. Looks like you cheat death again."

  Jen gave him a weak smile.

  "How are you feeling?" Wayne came into view.

  "Weak. Confused. Can't do shit."

  Zeke patted her arm. "You just relax. We've got this."

  D-Day smiled. "We'll be back in Atlanta in no time."

  Jen struggled to keep her eyes open, but lost the battle.

  Butler entered the lab.

  Same one O'Connor used.

  Morgan looked up from his desk. "What is it, Colonel?"

  Butler's head turned from side to side. "Don't know. This whole Svengali Program just doesn't make sense to me."

  "How's that?"

  "It's just so off the books," Butler said. "I've been involved in hush-hush projects before, but why the hell does Cartwright report directly to the president? Even the Secretary of Defense is out of the loop."

  Morgan frowned. "Does it matter as long as it works for national defense?"

  A feeling of regret washed over Jen. I'm getting his feelings, too?

  "I used to think that way," Butler said. "Sacrificed a lot of good men for the mission. Was it worth it?"

  Morgan glanced at Butler over his glasses then went back to his work. "Just think if it works."

  "We release the spores over enemy territory," Butler said, "then within twenty-four hours we control them. Sounds too good to be true."

  Morgan didn't look up. "That's the idea."

  Butler scoffed. "Nothing can go wrong with that plan, can it?"

  The train swayed under Jen. She opened her eyes all the way. Must be getting better.

  She lay across a seat with her head on Wayne's lap. He was fast asleep leaning against the window.

  I could stay like this for awhile.

  She peered across the aisle to where D-Day and Zeke sat, both out cold. Zeke leaned against D-Day and had his mouth open. A strand of drool hung off the corner of his lip, then dropped onto D-Day's arm.

  Jen sighed. Were Butler's memories true, or did he
just project what he wanted her to experience?

  She eased herself into a sitting position. Wayne snorted and curled against the window.

  Their car was empty. How the hell did they manage that?

  She yawned. "I feel pretty good." She clamped her hand over her mouth. No need to wake the others.

  Watching the countryside roll by the windows, she wondered if anything would ever get back to normal.

  She leaned against the window and fell asleep.

  The door to Butler's office burst open and Stanley strutted in, his fiery hair carefully coiffed and an intense look on his face.

  He shoved a large envelope at Butler. "Hide this."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Stanley pushed it at Butler again. "You don't want to know. Just hide it where no one will find it. Someone searched my office while I was out and I know they were looking for what's in the envelope. You're the only one I can trust. Take it and I'll come back for it later. I'll explain everything then."

  Stanley opened the door and stuck his head out, looking up and down the hallway. Without another word he slipped into the corridor and disappeared.

  Butler opened the envelope and removed several sheets of paper. Jen couldn't read them, her vision having been blurred. Is he keeping me from finding out what's in the envelope?

  Butler returned the papers. "Son of a bitch. Even the president's in on it."

  He rose and approached a six-foot cabinet in the back of the lab. Grunting, he slid it from the wall and slipped behind it.

  His hand came into view and it held a penknife. Butler used it as a makeshift screwdriver to unscrew a vent cover several inches from the floor.

  When he had removed the cover, he rushed to the desk and pulled a roll of duct tape from a drawer. He placed the envelope against the top of the air duct and taped it in place. Within a couple of minutes, he had replaced the vent cover and the cabinet.

  He strode toward the door. "Got to let Morgan know what's going on. I'll need him if I'm going to have a chance to stop this."

  Jen jerked awake as the train slowed. She peered out the window. "Atlanta."