Zombie Warfare: Impact Series - Book 3

by Craig Halloran

  “Oh! Oh yes! It’s time.” He tapped the screen on his smart watch, shoved the zombie back inside its sarcophagus and slammed the door shut. “It’s zombie time!”

  On tip toes, he dashed over to a computer console, clicked the mouse and fired up several larger monitors. The fans whirled to life. “Oh, hold on.” He dashed over to the microwave and tossed in a sack of popcorn. Over near his desk he opened the door of a waist-high fridge and withdrew a green bottle of Mountain Dew. He made the mistake of looking over at Steve. The zombie’s head was tilted at him and its crooked jaw was chewing at its lip. Charles shrugged. “Sorry, Steve. Zombies can’t be choosers.”

  Ding.

  He snagged the popcorn and practically jumped into his seat, fingers already moving like Mozart’s over the keyboard. Screens 1 thru 6 fired up about a foot above his head. The high definition burst to life with the moving scenes of a painted desert. He opened up the audio.

  “Charles? Charles? Are you there?”

  The voice had a deep drawl, Texan like, but they weren’t in Texas. It was Arizona.

  “This is your rodeo, Cowboy,” the voice said again. “Where in Sam Hill are you?”

  “I’m here,” Charles said, “just hold your horses.”

  “Bout time. Where ya’ been? We got us a coyote on the loose!”

  “Just one?” he said, stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

  “I didn’t think you needed any more. Besides, this is a big one. Been causing Uncle Sam lots of problems. Dealing with another Cartel. We’ll get gold plated spurs for our boots with this one.”

  “Great,” he said. “But I’m not seeing anything.” His eyes darted from screen to screen. “Well, not really anything. I can see cacti, tumbleweeds and rocks, but that’s not why I’m looking.”

  “Hold on, the drones are about to circle.”

  “Vultures, Rancho. Vultures,” Charles fired back.

  “Whatever rings yer bell, Cowboy. Just give it a second. The vultures are almost there.”

  Charles propped his glasses up on his head and sipped his Dew. The images on Screen 2 and Screen 3 were a little fuzzy.

  “You need to focus better, Rancho. I can’t see a thing.”

  “You wearing your glasses?” the voice fired back.

  “Funny,” Charles said. The screen cleared again. “Better.” The image on Screen 2 to his left zoomed towards the ground. Four moving images appeared. His veins ignited. He clapped his hands together. “That’s beautiful! Absolutely beautiful.”

  “If you say so,” Rancho said in a funny kind of way.

  The drones weren’t the typical kind commonly used in the Middle East and at the Mexican border. These were different. Newer. Quieter. The kind that could hover. Charles had insisted on them.

  “Closer, Vulture 2,” he said, “closer.”

  The image zoomed right in.

  “Better?”

  “Perfect,” he said. I can see their pupils now.”

  There were four of them. Two men covered head to toe in desert camo with M-16s strapped on their backs. Both strained to hold the other two figures on the leashes. Zombies.

  Charles drummed his desk.

  “I love it! Zombie Blood Hounds!”

  The zombies wore desert-colored zombie suits with metal skull caps that left their mouths uncovered. Each had a black collar on its neck that pinched into the skin. Nostrils flared. Their jaws snapped open and closed, practically towing the men behind them.

  “Where’s the perp?” Charles asked.

  “Vulture 3 is swinging around. Hold on,” Rancho said. “He snuck into a ravine. Hard to get a good shot. Hold on.”

  The image dropped through the sky. Stopped maybe a dozen feet above the ground in a dry ravine. Slowly it panned around. A man stood in the shade of some rocks, sucking for breath and clutching his sides. He was big, tan and tawny haired. He had desert camo on like the others. He leaned on a rifle.

  “Say,” Charles said, “who is that guy? And why’s he got a rifle?”

  “You said you wanted it to be more of a challenge,” Rancho said. “Not really sure who the guy is.”

  “He looks like one of our guys.” Charles said.

  “Yup.”

  “Well …” he didn’t finish. His eyes were fixed on the man hoisting the rifle onto his shoulder. “Tell me he doesn’t have any bullets?”

  “It’s a carbine. Small load. You said you wanted them to have a fighting chance, didn’t you?”

  To Charles it looked like the man pointed the rifle right at him. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. The man closed one eye and took aim. He couldn’t speak. Get that drone out of there!

  He saw a tiny flash. His heart jumped. The screen went black. He fell backward out of his chair.

  “Charles? Charles? Are you there?” Someone snickered. “I don’t think that fella was close enough to hit you.” There was more laughing. “Woooo Howdy, that was something!”

  Charles kicked his chair away and bounced back to his feet.

  “Did we just lose a drone!”

  “You mean Vulture?”

  “You know what I mean, dammit!” He slammed his fist on the console. Knocked his drink on the floor.

  “It’s just technology. We can fix it. Not like it’s people.”

  Red faced, Charles picked up his chair and sat down. He also had to deal with Rancho and his twisted cowboy ways. He always screwed with Charles’s plans. Treated everything like toys. Played games. He’d never met the man and he didn’t like him. But, he trusted him to get the job done.

  He typed a command into the computer. His finger hovered above enter.

  “Alright Rancho, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn. Get me a view of this man and keep your distance,” Charles said. “Those cameras can identify a flea in the sand from a mile away.”

  Screen 4 moved over the landscape and spotted the man. He was moving.

  Good. Good.

  “I’m turning the hounds loose,” Charles said.

  “You sure they won’t turn on our men?” Rancho said.

  “I’ve gone over this. As long as they keep the suits on and don’t bleed anywhere, they’ll be fine.”

  “Well the last time—”

  “A miscalculation.”

  On Screen 2 the soldiers unhooked their leashes. The zombies lumbered onward, towards the man that was less than a mile distant.

  Charles smiled. Time to test the new XT Formula. He pressed enter. The zombies lurched where they stood, stutter stepped a few times, and took off at a half run, half walk.

  “That’s new,” Rancho said, “what’s that on their gloves?”

  “Hooks.”

  CHAPTER 6

  -Washington, D.C.-

  Don finished off the sausages and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. They weren’t so bad. If anything they were tasty. He had eaten something similar to them in his Meals Ready to Eat back when he served in Vietnam. It brought back memories.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten with my fingers,” he said, wiping them off, “other than the occasional éclair.” He took a drink from a green soda bottle. The tall one had left and brought it back when he complained about his thirst. “This Mountain Dew is pretty good. Funny thing, unlike almost everyone in the world, I’ve never even tried it before. I see why zombies like it.”

  No one said a word, but the one at the door had a smirk on his face. There was something about him. He stretched his limbs and yawned. He was still groggy and hungry. His mind raced. Somebody has to be coming.

  “Well, thanks for the food.” He rubbed his knees. “So where were we? Ah yes. You wanted me to tell you all about the next Zombie Apocalypse.”

  “Outbreak,” Walker said, putting out his cigarette on the table. He didn’t light another one. “Just tell us the best way to get to Ravenloft.”

  “Well, Colonel Walker, you’re the one who is privy to all the security details, aren’t you?”

  �
�Not Ravenloft,” Walker said. “He’s special. All the rest of you have the same clearance, but not him. He’s on another level. I’ve done my homework. You check in with him and so do the others. All of you have a special one on one with him.”

  Don leaned back against the wall. He’d always figured he had a relationship with Ravenloft that the others didn’t have.

  “Well I’ll be,” Walker said, “you didn’t know that, did you? Huh-huh, seems Mister Ravenloft has you all tied around his fingers.”

  Don shrugged.

  “We all have our own blend of uses. That’s hardly surprising.”

  “True,” Walker said, “but you all figured you were on the same footing. The WHS leaders. All reporting to another Commander in Chief, not realizing all along you all reported to Ravenloft.”

  Don hid his irritation. The truth was after all these years, he wasn’t really sure who he worked for. He kept his eye on things. Made the rounds. He was a face to the public that would comment and report. But now that role had been reduced. A great deal lately.

  Walker snapped his fingers in his face.

  “You still there?”

  Don lifted his brows.

  “Seems I’ve nowhere else to be.”

  Oliver grabbed the cooler, pulled out a can of beer, and cracked it open.

  Don’s mouth watered.

  “You didn’t tell me beer was an option.”

  “It wasn’t,” Oliver said. He gulped down about half the can. “Ah ...”

  “Oliver’s been keeping a close eye on you, Don. And he’s picked up a few things.” He extended his hand to Oliver, who gave him two cans of beer.

  Don licked his lips. His thirst was building.

  Oliver handed the other can to the man at the door.

  “Seems you were on the outs with the WHS,” Walker said. “They wanted rid of you.”

  “What?” Don said. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re getting old, Don. It’s a younger man’s game, killing billions of people. You don’t have the stomach for it anymore.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said. “Now give me a beer.”

  Oliver finished his first and cracked another open.

  “It’s your favorite brand. Extra stout and milky.”

  “Screw you, Oliver,” Don said. “And you made lousy coffee.”

  “Whoa, someone is pretty cranky. It’s that old thing, Don. You’re brittle. They didn’t need you anymore,” Walker said. He put the can to his lips and took a swig. “I like your taste in beer though. That’s one thing old farts know. My granddad drank this too. Too bad a zombie ate him. He’d probably have one with you.”

  I’m going to kill them all.

  Don felt the anger swell in his chest. He was in good health, but he was rattled. He was old. And the WHS was cutting him out. Or so it seemed. He’d been denying it for quite some time too. But now these three men had confirmed everything he didn’t want to admit. He could see it in their faces. But the WHS still needed him. He hadn’t told them everything. He had a chip to play and they knew it.

  “What makes you so certain they aren’t coming after me?” Don said. “They need me. And even if they didn’t, they’d make sure I was dead before I fell into enemy hands.”

  Walker shifted in his seat and Oliver stopped drinking.

  The trailer became quiet. Still.

  That’s it. Roll it back on them. They aren’t so certain.

  Walker grabbed a can of chew from his back pocket and tapped in on his hand. He stuck a big pinch of rub in. Stuffing it in his lips with his tongue, he grinned. There were some tobacco flakes on his lips.

  “Show him the paper,” Walker said.

  Oliver opened one of the desk drawers at the bottom and tossed a newspaper over. A headline jumped out at him.

  WHS EXECS KILLED IN FIERY CRASH

  Don skimmed the article. It said there’d been a freak accident. Three men burned to death, the result of vehicle malfunction. One was Jack Baker. Another was Oliver. It all happened two weeks ago.

  Don went cold. The paper trembled in his fingers.

  “How did …”

  He glanced at the obituaries stapled to the front page. He saw his face. It was a younger picture of him in his Air Force uniform with a stern smile on his face. Jack Baker, his nephew, was on the other column and so was a picture of Oliver.

  “Becky,” he said, in a whisper. “Can you tell me anything about her?”

  Walker spit in his beer can.

  “She looked fine last time I saw her. Ben Johannes is looking after her. She’s taken quite a shine to him,” Walker shrugged. “As the story goes.”

  Don’s brows buckled. He crushed up the papers and tossed them aside.

  “That bastard’s as old as me. Damn suck up! He should be here, not me!” The thought of that man with his wife ran right through his veins. “I’ll kill him.”

  He started to wheeze.

  “Better get your puffer out, Don,” Oliver said.

  “Oh shut up!”

  Everyone chuckled but him.

  “They really did bury me,” Don said. “How’d you pull it off?”

  “It wasn’t too hard, considering I was the lead investigator.”

  “Who were the other bodies?”

  “Ah, just a couple of leftover zombies. Not anyone you knew.”

  Don’s head sunk into his hands. He was a tough guy. Dangerous. Feared. The articles in the paper confirmed everything. The WHS had abandoned him. He rubbed his eyes in his palms. I’m too old for this.

  “So, how’s it feel to be dead?”

  “Huh?” Don said, looking up.

  “Dead?” the man in front of the door said. “How does it feel?”

  Don’s face perked up. The man behind the voice seemed familiar. Very familiar.

  “Say again,” he said. He took a closer look at the man. Stared right into his eyes.

  The man leaned closer.

  “How does it feel to be dead, Don?”

  He knew that voice. Not the face but the voice. Everyone in the world knew that voice.

  “Nate?” Don said.

  “Damn straight.”

  CHAPTER 7

  -Institute, WV-

  The knock at the door came later than expected. Henry couldn’t have been happier when it finally did come. Tori had kept him up all night. Fighting. Crying. Complaining. Nothing he said was right. He was exhausted when he opened the door.

  A black man filled the doorway with a big grin on his face.

  “You two love birds ready to go?”

  It was Rod.

  Henry wanted to hug him.

  “Hey man, I mean Rod, it’s great to see you.”

  “You too,” Rod said. “Hi, Tori.”

  She flipped up her hand.

  “Did I come at a bad time?” Rod said. He clapped his hands. “Come on now. Let’s move it, the both of you. I can’t wait to get out of this place, and they’re waiting on you.”

  “So Tori’s good?” Henry said.

  “Of course she is. Why, what did Alice say? She messed with your heads last night, didn’t she. She’s crazy.”

  “Well,” Henry started. He turned back to Tori. “I told you it would be alright.”

  Tori pushed her way through the doorway and headed down the hall. She had a duffle bag strapped over her shoulder. She clopped down the hall in a white tank top, tight jeans and high heels.

  Rod squeezed Henry’s shoulders. “I like you, Henry, but you don’t deserve that. I’d fight a dozen zombies for her.”

  “I know, Rod.”

  “Hey, wait up at the elevator. I’ve got the key code.” He started up the hallway and looked back. “Shake a leg, Henry! It’s Mo-Time!”

  “Rod, will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “How should I know? Come on now, let’s go!”

  The three of them waited in the courtyard. It was cold out. A little d
amp. Henry wore beige trousers and had his hands inside his navy blue hoodie. Rod was chatting with the security guards. There were six of them and they were looked over at them, laughing.

  Looks like last night’s cat fight made the rounds.

  Tori stood silently, shivering.

  “Why don’t you wear my hoodie?” he said.

  “No.”

  “I have an extra jacket.”

  “I can dress myself, thank you,” she said. “Maybe Alice will need it.”

  A long black van pulled through the security gate, full size. Its tires crunched over the pavement as it rolled towards them. The wheels squeaked as it came to a stop. Rod walked over and opened the door.

  “Ladies first.”

  “Thanks, Rod,” Tori said, smiling up at him. “Can you sit with me? I haven’t talked with anyone but Henry for the past two weeks and I could use a change.”

  “Sure,” Rod said. “I feel you. You don’t mind, do you, Henry?”

  “Whatever makes her happy,” he said.

  Rod and Tori filled the first row and tossed their things in the second. Henry squeezed his way into the seat in the back. Tori was already giggling. Rod’s gusty laughs were like a roar.

  Great. Just great.

  The van’s windows were tinted, but he could see out just fine. Two WHS Security guards sat in the front, with shotguns locked up in the center console. Rod started to pull the door shut just as another person entered. He was fuzzy bearded and wore an orange Quantum Leap T-Shirt with stains on it. It was Rudy.

  “Hey guys!”

  “Damn!” Rod said, “I’m not riding with this fool!”

  “Me either,” Tori said.

  “Listen,” Rudy said. “I’m sorry. It was a crazy night. Let’s just let bygones be bygones. I’ve really missed you guys.”

  Tori stuck her zombie fist in his face.

  “No.”

  “Come on, guys, really?” Rudy whined. “I was blasted out of my mind. You can’t hold me accountable for that. Seriously?” He looked at Henry. “Bawk? Come on. Forgive me.”

  “What about Weege?” Henry said. “Where’s that weasel?”

  “Probably with Alice. Who knows.” Rudy extended his hand towards Henry.

  Henry rubbed his eyes. It was bad enough he barely got enough sleep last night, but now this. He didn’t even know where he was going.

  Screw it.

  He took Rudy’s hand in his.

  “Welcome aboard.”

  CHAPTER 8

  -Arizona-

  Location Unknown

  Chad blasted the drone and watched it fall from the sky. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and jogged to the next outcropping to duck into the shade.