by Mark Tufo
We were three quarters of the way through the zoo. I would have had my people make a mad dash for it, but there still might be animals here and I would not lose someone to a lion. That, and we were exhausted. Better to move at a cautious pace while also conserving and restoring energy. That changed when the admin building was breached; this we knew from the massive explosion.
I looked over to Rose, who shrugged. “I figured the more I used, sir, the less I had to carry.”
“Can’t fault that logic. Let’s pick it up.” With a traditional enemy, the blast would have sent them scurrying for cover and tentative to make another assault. With zombies, the opening was just a vacuum that needed filling.
When we got to the back of the zoo, we were faced with a nine-foot concrete retaining wall. I’m sure this posed no problem for the monkeys that vacated the area, but for us right now, we may as well have been Huns in China. BT gave Tommy a small boost; he didn’t need it, but the others suspected something about the boy, and we were doing our best to limit the speculation and keep the talk to a minimum.
“Honey, they’re home.” Kirby did his best Jack Torrance voice; if I had to rate it, I’d have given him a solid seven. It was the facial expression that put it over the top. I’ve got to think he practiced it a lot in a mirror. Either that or he was certifiable, like his father, Peter. Man, I missed that crazy bastard. We lost touch after the Corps. The men I had known and fought next to were as close, if not closer, than brothers, but when the shooting finally stops, sometimes you don’t want to be reminded of the past. I knew I was guilty of that.
Tommy was reaching down and snagging people like a crane would a stack of lumber. They might have had questions about him, but he was liked and respected and well, shit. When someone offers you a hand to get away from a bloodthirsty horde, you take it. The zoo was beginning to swell with zombies. We, as of yet, had not been discovered, but it looked as if they were not going to leave any stone unturned in their quest to find us.
“Does this seem a little excessive, even for them?” BT asked as he waited until everyone else was up and over.
“Clear on the other side,” Stenzel said.
“Zombies like to eat, but, yeah…they’re after us like a Jenny Craig dropout going out for all-you-can-eat shrimp. I think this has to do with Dewey, like, maybe he wants to keep his secret a secret for a little while longer.”
“It’s fucking weird when you make sense. Kind of like those pictures on the internet when a chameleon grabs a screwdriver.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Little-known fact: chameleons will grab anything placed in front of them. But just because they have it wrapped in their grip doesn’t mean they know what to do with it. Kind of like you with a valid thought.”
“I wonder if Bennington will let me trade you out. I could probably get a sixth-round draft choice.”
BT and I helped Gary up, trying to touch as little of him as we could. His teeth were clenched shut and he didn’t yell out, but he was visibly uncomfortable. Gary had been gently let down on the other side when Tommy gave us the warning that we’d been spotted.
BT didn’t need much help; a small jump and he had his elbow and underarm on the top of the wall. Tommy grabbed his pack and gave an assist.
“You ready?” Tommy leaned down and hauled me up.
I was standing atop the wall, looking over the sea of several hundred zombies running toward the wall. Tommy had dropped down and into Central Park.
“I fucking see him.” Dewey was standing on top of one of the huts that used to serve refreshments. I had him directly in my sights and was in the process of pulling the trigger, when a collision of zombies broadsided into the wall. I thought I saw a plume of blood exit from Dewey, but it was impossible to tell as I was now fighting the vibrations from the impact. I was teetering. That I was going over was not much in doubt; which way, however, was a life or death question. My calves were bunched as my front half-pitched far forward; I arched my back, flung my arms, and threw as much of my weight into going that way as possible. I wasn’t trying to correct and stand back up; that ship had sailed. I gave not a shit about how I landed in the park, just that it was in the park.
I was both happy and dismayed when BT caught me. Happy that I hadn’t landed on my head or shoulder or in some way that would have broken something and slowed me down. Dismayed, well, because he caught me like Richard Gere had carried Debra Winger in An Officer and a Gentlemen. Sure, it was a great scene and even the most macho of men secretly teared up when he swept her off her feet. I mean, that’s what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know…I didn’t see the flick. So there I was, cradled in his oversized arms; I even had my arms around his neck. The entire thing couldn’t have lasted a second and a half before he roughly deposited me onto the ground, but now it had happened. I wasn’t sure how my sister was going to react to the news; I’m sure she was going to be devastated. Tracy would take it in stride, probably even say she expected something like that from the beginning, the way I always gave him googly eyes. I mean…okay, but that was more due to the sheer size of the man.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I wanted to add something about the Bears, but I didn’t want to make any more out of it than necessary. And given the circumstances, it was more likely my squad would be thinking about grizzlies and not the football team. I pulled my gear straight. “Winters, get us moving.”
We had cleared the zoo and still no signs of zombies breaking through, but that would happen soon enough. That wall wobble had told me it wasn’t going to hold against a sustained attack; our best strategy would to not be around when it finally gave. We had a mile and a half to the lab and somehow Central Park was free from zombies. Got a partial answer a half mile later. Elephants. Yup, I said elephants. Three of them. A colossal male, an even larger female I figured was the matriarch, and either a baby or another, smaller type. The three of them were walking around, grazing, trumpeting, cavorting, normal elephant stuff. I was worried that our presence would bring them harm; I need not have been concerned. What I had failed to notice, but Grimm pointed out, were the stomped, smattered and splattered zombies all around us. It looked like at one time the zombies thought the elephants would make a grand meal and pushed their chairs up to the table only to be told they would not be served there. This part of the park looked like it had been paved with the flattened bodies of the truly dead.
The female elephant turned and eyed us warily as we were going to approach, about a hundred yards to the small group’s side. Yeah, she knew what guns were and it didn’t look like the experience had been a happy one. We kept moving. The bull took his cues from the female; he shook his massive head and stomped around then let out a loud trumpet blast in warning. If he charged, we would be forced to shoot; I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come down to that.
“Stop, everyone stop!” I ordered. “Turn and face the elephants, hands off your weapons.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” BT asked as he raised his hands.
“The male looks like he wants to charge I don’t want to give him a reason to do it.” Like the animal had heard my words, he took three quick steps our way.
“Hold!” I yelled when I saw more than one of my group’s hands falter and begin to slide down to their rifle.
“Wasting time.” BT looked over his shoulder to the way we had come.
“Saving lives.” And I meant theirs and ours.
I raised my hands higher, that seemed to agitate the bull even further; the matriarch, though, she understood the gesture. She wrapped her trunk around the male’s tail and gave it a pull, getting his attention. He swung his head to look at her; don’t know what she said or how she said it, but he immediately deferred to her. He turned his back to us like we were never there. The small elephant stayed hidden behind the female, who made sure to continually watch us as we departed.
“Fuck me, you adding elephant whisperer to your resume?” BT asked.
“Y
ou know I am.”
We’d been at a slight jog, but that last half mile there wasn’t anyone in my squad not feeling the effects of what had been happening. We were down to a weary and wary walk. Had Halsey at point; the building was in sight and I was about to have us stop so we could reconnoiter the place before we just barged in. Three speeders burst forth from a bodega not ten feet from where Halsey was. He didn’t even have a chance to register alarm as the first of them broadsided him. By then it was already too late; he gave an ear-piercing scream as his nose was completely bitten off. I’ve been shot by a bullet, by a crossbow–stabbed and cut so many times there was very little of me that had not suffered trauma–but in terms of pain, all of it was trumped by a bite. There is something so savage, so visceral and paralyzing in intensity about a bite. Halsey was in shock and survival mode as he tried to push the aggressor away and might have been able to do just that…if the other two hadn’t dog-piled him.
It takes a moment for the mind to process exactly what it is seeing; yes, even though all of us had witnessed it dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of times, you still don’t expect it to happen and most definitely not to one of your own. Not someone you were talking with a minute ago. The four were on the ground; three fat parasites were systematically ripping into one of my men and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Couldn’t shoot them for fear of hitting Halsey, even though I knew he was dead already. This would not be something he walked away from, unless…I was thinking about the lab as I cracked my rifle against the skull of a zombie teenager. Its pale gray face turned to me; I’d ripped the skin most of the way up and off. The side of its jaw was laid bare; teeth were exposed along with the cartilage of its nose. It snarled at me once and made as if to go back in for another piece of Halsey. I cracked it again, and this time it stood. Winters delivered a point-blank round into its forehead.
BT had kicked one of the zombies like he was trying to make a sixty-three-yard field goal; it wouldn’t have split the uprights but it was sufficient enough to launch the woman away, where someone put her down for good. The third made sure to wrap its arms and legs around a convulsing Halsey, using the dying man as a shield. Halsey’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head and he was busy chewing on his tongue; the zombie kept moving its head to keep it clear from us while also moving in to take as big a bite as it dared. It was Stenzel who ended the détente as she snapped the blade of her knife into the temple of the zombie. Its arms and legs opened wide and it rolled over. It was staring straight up into space, its left arm moved ineffectively towards the offending insertion before falling weakly back to earth. By this time, all of our attention was on Halsey.
“Help me grab him!” I yelled.
“Sir,” Winters started. I knew where he was going with this; we all knew the private was going to die. Really, the best thing we could have done for him was to end it quickly. But I felt like we had one more chance. That bio-building; we were here for a reason. Maybe they had a cure.
“The lab–we get him to the lab.”
“I’ll take him.” BT draped the private over his shoulder and we started moving quickly.
We were at the front doors in a matter of minutes. I don’t know what they were testing, but this place was a vault quality facility. Could see the hands of the government all over the drab-but-solid structure. I banged on the doors and then looked up to the camera.
“I know you can see me. I’m Lieutenant Talbot. We were sent by Etna Station to rescue you.”
There was a long delay. “What’s wrong with the man?”
“Bit. We need help.”
“We can’t help him.” The voice didn’t sound frightened to let us in; on the contrary, I’d say there was empathy. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t understand. “But if we were sent to get you, and you work at a lab, you must have a cure.”
“Cure? Now that would be something.”
“Let us in.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that–not with the infected man. You must understand; we cannot allow someone who is going to turn, in.”
“He’s not quite a zombie yet.”
“That camera is infra-red and can also perform bio scans. I suggest you have your Gunnery Sergeant put him down before you have two casualties.”
BT quickly but gently set Halsey onto the front stoop. The convulsions had stopped. Halsey took one final breath before his eyes clouded over. He sat up, his face a mass of hamburger, but the snarl on his lips and the predatory look in his eyes was all we needed to know.
“Forgive me,” I told him as I shot him from a foot away. There was stunned silence from those all around me as his head smacked off the concrete and he was finally still. We heard the door click as the locking mechanism was released.
“Sir?” Harmon asked as she grabbed the door handle. All of my attention was still on my fallen private. My pistol holding hand was still raised; BT pressed it slowly down.
“Come on, man. We gotta go; more are coming.”
“Shit.”
As soon as we got in, the door locks reengaged. We found ourselves in a small corridor faced with another set of locked doors which promptly opened up.
Chapter 6
Mike Journal Entry 6
“I’m sorry about your man.” The person who stepped through the doors looked less like a scientist and more like the manager at a rundown nudie bar. He had a large gut, slicked mustache, and greasy hair that hung down to his shoulders. The only thing that even competed against this seedy persona was the flawless, white smock he was wearing.
“I’m Doctor Jeremy.” He looked relieved to see us.
Then it dawned on me. “Are you related to…”
“Fifth or sixth cousin; I don’t think he even knows.” He attempted a faltering smile.
“What are you talking about?” BT whispered.
“Think hedgehog,” and I left it at that.
“You are the weirdest fuck I have ever met.” He followed me as I went and shook the doctor’s hand.
We were safe for the moment. The doctor showed us where we could get cleaned up and eat, though you can hardly call a quarter packet of ramen a sustaining meal. But it was something. I penned a letter to Halsey’s girlfriend and dreaded every second I’d spend giving it to her. I’d lost her significant other on my watch. It happened; men and women died all the time in war. That didn’t make it any easier. I had just folded the letter up and put it in my pocket when there was a soft knock on the door to the room I was sitting in.
“Just got off the radio with your commander. They’ll have a new plane at the airfield tomorrow; he expects us to be on the return flight. Again, Lieutenant, I am sorry for your loss. The rest of your people are getting some rest; I suggest you do as well.
“Thank you, doctor. Can you tell me why we’re here? Was it worth it, at least?”
“Time will tell. It’s always history that is the perfect scrivener of events, although, unfortunately, history is always tampered with by the humans recording it. They are inclined to write things down in a light that puts them or their cause in the right.”
“How about we discuss the philosophy of historical bias another time, and you tell me why Bennington cost me one of my men and risked the rest of our lives, and I’ll internally decide if admission was worth the price.”
He put his hand to his chin and looked up before he spoke. “I do think it was worth it. What we have here isn’t just research or a theory; we have a working weapon, a biological agent.”
I pressed the bridge of my nose and paused; as a soldier, I didn’t like anything that started with the word biological. “So how do we get all the zombies to head down to the local clinic to receive their treatment? Who’s the poor bastard that has to administer those shots?”
He cocked his head slightly, not following the thread of my thinking. Not surprising, really; you have to be around me for a fair amount of time to thread around the tangents and pull it into something relativel
y cohesive.
“Why, you, of course. And others like you,” he added quickly. “You see, the viral agent is added to bullets, much like how the Native Americans would dip their arrows into toxins created either from dangerous plants or poisonous animals.”
“Great. We’re going back to primitive weapons.”
“I think you are failing to understand the basic principles involved here.”
“Inform me.”
“How difficult is a headshot?”
“A lot harder than hitting a target center mass.”
“What if I were to tell you that a grazing wound on the arm of a zombie could now be its undoing?” I sat up straighter. “I thought that might pique your interest.” He smiled.
“So, we just dip our bullets in some scientific mystery brew, then?”
“It’s a little more difficult than that; the virus is hardy but not quite that stable. We have experimented quite successfully on hollow-tipped bullets. We fill in the hole then seal the bullet with a plastic cap. Once it strikes the enemy, the contents are introduced into the victim.”
“How fast?” This was all great and fine, but if the virus took twenty-four hours or longer to make the zombie sick and then die, it was barely above useless. If we were firing, that meant we were usually a minute or less from being killed.
“Our first trials typically took three hours; we now have it down to ten minutes, and we think we can improve upon that, though, we have begun to run out of the necessary resources to keep testing and advancing.”
Ten minutes was a vast improvement, but still contained some serious drawbacks.
“Lieutenant Talbot, I’m saying that we can get this to be nearly instantaneous and soon. Imagine the lives that can be saved if even the most superficial of shots will drop the enemy.”