Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State

by Dalton, Charlie

  “Positive. It’s him.”

  Tommy took his phone out of his pocket and keyed in a message. He hit send. He watched the monitor. Samantha was reading some other reports.

  “Come on, Samantha,” Tommy said under his breath. “Answer your phone.”

  But she didn’t. She often lost her phone when she was busy working on something. He dialed her number and called her. The phone was ringing but Samantha didn’t answer. She must have left it in her room.

  Damn.

  Tommy moved back in front of the monitor. It took some real effort to keep his eyes from the man in the background.

  “Samantha?” Tommy said. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah. One sec.”

  She spoke to her assistant and handed reports to her.

  “Everything cleared up?” she said.

  “Yeah. Everything’s going fine this end. I can’t hear you very well. Is there something wrong with the connection?”

  There was no problem at all. Everything was coming through crystal clear.

  “No,” Samantha said. “Everything’s fine this end.”

  Tommy whispered, his voice barely audible.

  “What?” Samantha said. “I can’t hear you.”

  Tommy kept speaking in a low volume.

  “I can’t hear you,” Samantha said. “Maybe we should talk when you get here.”

  A hand came into view.

  “You can use my headphones,” Samantha’s assistant said.

  “Thanks,” Samantha said, taking them.

  As she leaned over to plug them in, Sean chimed in.

  “Tommy?” he said. “Something weird’s happening.”

  “Not now,” Tommy said, eyes focused on the monitor.

  Emin headed over and helped Sean with the control desk.

  “Tommy, I think you should take a look at this,” she said.

  “Handle it,” Tommy said firmly.

  He just needed a few seconds to give Samantha the warning.

  “There’s something wrong with Michael,” Emin said. “It’s something inside his stomach. Something’s not right.”

  With a grunt of vexation, Tommy moved to the control desk.

  “What is it?” he said.

  In the tank, Michael shuddered, shaking. His lips were moving. He hit mute on Samantha’s monitor and opened Michael’s voice.

  “. . . fear our time together is coming to an end,” he said. “You might have caught me, might have stopped some of the orbs, but you missed the one that will make the difference. The best part is, you didn’t even know you brought it with you.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Emin said.

  Tommy had no idea. A bleeping noise emitted from the control terminal. On the monitor, an image appeared, showing Michael’s mutilated body and something happening inside his stomach. It almost looked like—

  Oh my God.

  Tommy picked up a piece of kit and waved it at the glass tank. A metal detector. It winged as he passed it over his chest. He past it over his stomach.

  “He has something inside him,” Tommy said.

  “You don’t think—?” Emin said, clasping a hand over her mouth.

  Yes, he did. He had an orb inside him.

  “Out of professional courtesy, I give you fair warning,” Michael said. “You have five minutes. Use them wisely.”

  Then he began to sing.

  Tommy slammed his fist on the button, knocking him out.

  “Open the back,” he said.

  Emin moved to the controls and opened the cargo hold. Tommy saw the look on her face.

  “Either he leaves the plane, or we do,” he said.

  He checked his watch. Four minutes remaining—assuming Michael was telling the truth. He moved behind the tank. Emin and Sean joined him. Together they shoved the tank back inch by inch. Too heavy, too slow.

  “Hold onto something,” Tommy said.

  He ran to the cockpit and threw the door open.

  “Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!” he bellowed.

  The pilots didn’t question the order. They pulled back on the steering column. The nose of the plane began to rise, pulling into the heavens. Tommy gripped the door as the plane tilted up. His feet lifted, skimming the floor. His shirt sleeve pulled back to reveal his wristwatch. Three minutes remaining.

  The tank slid backward a few more inches.

  Emin and Sean held onto the harness restraints on one side of the plane.

  “Come on, come on,” Tommy said.

  A loud screech as the plane arched as high as its heavy body would allow. Now the tank slid two feet, then two more.

  One minute remaining.

  Tommy looked down between his feet at the tank. If something didn’t dislodge it soon, it was going to explode right here in the plane. He took aim and prepared to release his grip. One of the pilots, seeing what he was planning to do, gave him a parachute. Tommy accepted it. Took a deep breath and—

  The tank slipped across the cargo floor and toward the green hole to the ground far below. Finally, the tank slipped out the end, turning end over end. Tommy’s watch ticked down the final few seconds.

  The five minutes were up. Then the second hand peacefully ticked past. Five. Ten. Fifteen seconds. Just when Tommy thought they’d been had—

  A flash of bright white light enveloped the entire plane, blinding Tommy. Then came the explosion.

  A tremendous roar filled his ears and struck the plane, making it shiver and tumble, shuddering like it was going to come apart at the seams. Looking up, Tommy saw the lights flashing on the cockpit, alarms blaring as the pilots fought to maintain control.

  Tommy clenched his eyes shut, realizing this might well be the end. He thought about Samantha and prayed he would get to see her again.

  54.

  THE BASE was jumping with the news the Death Squad had successfully prevented the virus from spreading to another city.

  Colonel Maxwell bent over a map, giving orders to distribute their forces across the potentially-afflicted area where the mysterious orbs might go off. He was hoping Tommy could extract some much-needed information from the prisoner but he wouldn’t hold his breath.

  “Sir, we’re getting a distress call from the cargo aircraft,” a young officer said.

  Colonel Maxwell accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear. On the other end, the pilot was shouting:

  “Mayday! Mayday! I repeat! We are—!”

  Colonel Maxwell handed the phone back and moved outside. A growing crowd of soldiers stood looking up at the sky. They watched in morbid fascination as the cargo plane advanced at a sharp incline. Something dropped out the back. It was difficult to ascertain what it was from this distance. It looked heavy, and tumbled end over end—

  And exploded.

  The plane shuddered visibly from the shock, smoke erupting from its engines.

  The falling object, whatever it had been, was destroyed. But that wasn’t the end of the show. In its wake, trailing like the waves of a large ocean liner, was a red mist. It fell toward the ground, a curtain’s final call.

  Toward the base.

  “Initiate emergency contamination procedure!” Maxwell said. “I repeat! Initiate emergency contamination procedure!”

  The soldiers leaped into action, locating their kit. They’d been drilled mercilessly on the technique. The soldiers acted fast. But perhaps not fast enough, as the mist descended upon them.

  They had failed to keep the virus under control. They no longer lived in a world with a single zombie city. It would soon become a Zombie Nation.

  55.

  WHILE SAMANTHA was dealing with her work commitment, the video call transmission was lost. Tommy must have his hands full, she thought. He seemed distracted by something. It was difficult not to be distracted by something these days.

  The scientists were hard at work running the virus through a bunch of computer simulations. It was proving to be a tough adversary. Each time they altered the variabl
es, the virus mutated in response. They shut down various lines of genetic code, weakening the virus’s ability to affect the human body. And then it morphed once again.

  What was worse, each time it learned to adapt, it recalled past situations and made further alterations. It had a memory.

  “Keep at it,” Samantha said. “It will have a weakness. We just have to figure it out.”

  Their computer systems were linked to multiple facilities across the planet. They were sending and receiving information at almost the speed of light. Other facilities were running their own tests and examinations, the results of which were being collected and stored here at their humble little research center.

  An explosion. Somewhere outside the wall.

  A ball of fire rolled in the direction of the sky, dwarfing the wall.

  “What in the world?” Samantha said.

  She was out the door and looking up at the giant explosion in an instant. It was one of those moments that didn’t feel real. How could it be? Explosions like this simply didn’t happen. Not in real life.

  Those who’d been building stopped and turned to watch the fireworks display.

  Samantha had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. After he’d successfully caught patient zero, Tommy was meant to bring him back to the base. Around this time.

  I need to get out of here.

  Samantha ran in the direction of the elevator. She could reach it within two minutes and ride it up—

  She doubled over, clutching her stomach and falling to her knees. She gasped oxygen that’d been smashed from her lungs. One of the builders—Samantha recognized him as having been camping outside—had belted her in the gut.

  “Don’t harm them,” a voice behind her said.

  At first, she didn’t recognize it. It was spoken in a cold, calculated tone. The speaker stepped from behind the research center. Her eyes widened in surprise at the man who’d spoken.

  Dr. Everly.

  He bent down and offered Samantha a hand. She looked at it but didn’t take it. She pushed herself onto her feet. She bent over slightly, her stomach still sore.

  The man who’d struck her stood with his hands wrapped around a rifle. He looked more at home with that than the pickaxe he’d worked earlier.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  Two dozen or more men and women armed with weapons surrounded their armed guard.

  “Please lay down your arms,” Dr. Everly said. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

  The soldiers were outnumbered three to one, covered from multiple angles. They lowered their weapons and tossed them to the ground. Dr. Everly’s men restrained them with zip ties.

  “What’s going on?” Samantha said. “Dr. Everly, what are you doing? We need to complete our research. We need to find a cure—”

  “My dear girl, the cure is already here.”

  She realized with dawning horror that he was referring to the virus.

  Another explosion erupted on the other side of the wall. Balls of black smoke billowed into the sky.

  Everyone recoiled. Everyone but Dr. Everly.

  56.

  KEVIN SAT watching a movie on TV. It was his latest favorite and knew all the words. He had his toys splayed around him on the sofa. His eyes were heavy and beginning to droop shut, his chin resting on his chest. He couldn’t stay awake much longer.

  He made one final attempt to keep his eyes open before his head leaned on the armrest.

  The metal ball lay underneath him, jammed in the crook between his ribcage and elbow. Its grooves began to pulse with bright red light, fading up and down like it was breathing. It did it once.

  “Kevin, dinner’s ready,” his mom said, calling from the kitchen.

  “Ngh?” Kevin said, jolting awake.

  “I said, dinner’s ready.”

  “Okay. I’m coming,” Kevin said. He yawned and stretched his arms and legs.

  The ball pulsed a second time.

  Kevin rolled off the sofa and moved toward the kitchen. Unseen by him, on the third pulse, a noxious red gas sprayed from its sides, forming a thick cloud that rose to the ceiling before flattening out and spreading from one room to another.

  It entered the kitchen. A moment of quiet before the occupants began to cough.

  57.

  CATHY WATCHED as Agatha and Christie (their father was a huge whodunnit fan) took turns sleeping with the ball, curling up beside it and clutching it tightly. When they took their shared bath, they left the ball in the care of Huggy, their mutual favorite cuddly toy.

  The girls were not stupid and immediately picked up on the affection with which their mother treated them because of the ball. That was why they took great care of it. It became the reason they talked and played.

  Just so long as the ball was present.

  The girls argued too much, so Cathy came up with a game. The only sister who could talk had to hold the ball. Each time they spoke without it, they had to wash up one plate after dinner. The more they spoke, the more they had to wash up.

  Cathy was always quick to switch off the news when they referred to the spherical object they were looking for. There’s no need to scare the children. It was probably just a ball. Nothing to be concerned about. But in the pit of her stomach, she did know it was something to be concerned about.

  And sometimes, Cathy did hesitate. It wasn’t some latent motherly instinct that made her pick up the phone half a dozen times to call the police and tell them they’d found one of those ball things. It was because she imagined someone floating above her, looking down on the scene. Knowing what she intended on doing, knowing the kind of monster she was. She always put the phone down. No one was watching. No one knew. And she would turn back to the kitchen and continue cooking.

  The ball had brought warmth and meaning to Cathy’s relationship with her girls. It’d become the conduit through which their love passed. And one day, it might be what took it away too.

  It was only when Cathy saw the image of the ball—what they described as an “orb”—on TV did she know for certain it was what she thought it was.

  “Again, if you come across an orb, you must go nowhere near it and call the authorities immediately,” the announcer said. Then, in a voice Cathy thought sounded accusing: “Your loved ones might be in danger.”

  They never went into details of what the orb actually did. It could play the world’s most beautiful music for all Cathy knew. Or contain the secret to everlasting life. Now wouldn’t that be a welcome surprise!

  And then it happened.

  Cathy had deposited them in the ball pit and, for the first time in months, actually stood and watched them playing with the other kids. She was surprised to see her reflection beaming in the dividing glass wall.

  “Are those your girls?” a woman in a sky blue cardigan said, appearing at her shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re very friendly. My little boy, Hector—the one in the yellow jumper—enjoys coming here to play with them. He doesn’t have a lot of friends at school but for some reason gets on like a house on fire with your girls.”

  Through the glass, Cathy watched as a small boy waded through the balls toward her girls. They conversed and smiled, joking with each other.

  “If it’s possible, I’d love to arrange a playdate for them sometime,” the mother said. “I’m Shannon, by the way.”

  She extended her hand and a friendly smile. Cathy stared at them with a look of horror.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  Shannon glanced at her hand as if there was something wrong with it and watched as Cathy moved away.

  She escaped into the supermarket, hastily grabbed a trolley—it had a wobbly wheel—and rushed down the aisle until she rounded the corner and got away from the other mother.

  She picked up a tin of alphabet soup and pretended to read the label. Her mind was somewhere far, far away, thinking on things that didn’t really register. Her heart was in her throat a
nd her panicking breaths heaved in her chest. She calmed down, relaxing. She’d been having a panic attack.

  As she began to calm and her hand stopped shaking, she put the tin back on the shelf and continued down the aisle. She didn’t look at what she bought. Any brand or flavor was fine.

  She proceeded through the till, paid, and sat in the coffee shop. The waitress brought her hot chocolate over and gave her a reassuring smile that everything was going to be okay. They only ever brought the drinks over to patrons too old to hear them bellow their orders.

  At some point, she’d finished her drink, picked up her kids, and climbed back in the car. She reversed and struck her own shopping trolley. She’d forgotten to transfer it to the trunk of her car.

  She was still in that glassy-eyed state of mind now, hands tensely grasping the steering wheel and leaning forward, staring out the window at the rain-smudged brake lights of the impatient cars in front.

  They were a little closer to home, a little further in the heavy rain that pelted them from heaven, but it was an otherwise identical day to the one before. The girls were in the back, no longer arguing, but talking animatedly about the fun and games they’d had in the ball pit.

  The girls gasped.

  “What did you do?” Agatha said. “You broke it!”

  “I didn’t break it!” Christie said. “I didn’t touch it!”

  “You did too!” Agatha said. “Look! The side fell off!”

  Cathy didn’t react with surprise. She’d been expecting this scene to take place for the past twenty-four hours. She turned slowly to peer back at the orb clutched between her girls’ fingers.

  A flap on the side of the orb had peeled back like a beautiful petal on a rare and unique flower. Inside, a light like the glow from the center of the sun, swelling with resonating throbs, so bright it erased the features of her little girls’ faces.

  This is it, Cathy thought. This is the moment she’d been waiting for. She knew what she had to do. She knew it from the moment she’d first set eyes on this thing.

  She reached for her door handle, certain of what was coming next. She hesitated. On the cusp of getting everything she’d ever wanted, and she was having second thoughts.