Zombie Apocalypse

by Cassiday, Bryan

  “We can’t risk a flat in the middle of nowhere,” said Chogan.

  “Why not?” said Victoria. “Look at all those cars on the freeway. We could take a tire off one of them.”

  “We have to keep adapting,” said Halverson.

  “How does that fix our tire?” said Chogan.

  “Millie needs a restroom,” said Emma.

  “Maybe we should just get another car,” said Chogan, ignoring her.

  “We had enough trouble getting this one,” said Halverson. “Let’s stick with it for the moment.”

  “Millie needs a restroom,” repeated Emma.

  “There she goes again,” said Chogan, fed up with Emma.

  “If anyone sees a rest area, holler,” said Halverson, casting around for one.

  “Why?” said Chogan.

  Victoria peered through the windshield and through the thermals shimmering over the desert.

  “That looks like a gas station up ahead,” she said.

  It took the better part of fifteen minutes for Halverson to reach the gas station. He pulled to a halt on the desert floor behind it. He figured it was best to humor Emma until she gathered her wits. He didn’t want to risk disrupting the current fragile state of her mind. She might become impossible to deal with if she totally flipped out.

  “How come you’ll pull over for her, but not for me to check the tires?” said Chogan, vexed.

  “You can take a look at the tires now,” said Halverson.

  Emma slid off the backseat out the door. As she stepped on the ground, something caught on her foot. She tripped and landed on her stomach in the dirt.

  A ghoul that had been holding onto the chassis during the entire ride now latched onto Emma’s ankle with one of its hands. The creature crawled out from under the SUV to bite Emma’s calf.

  From his seat through the open door, Chogan caught sight of the ghoul worming its way out from under the SUV.

  Screaming, Emma kicked at the ghoul’s head with her free foot, trying to coerce the creature to release its hold on her ankle.

  Chogan withdrew his pistol from his waistband at the small of his back, brought the muzzle to bear on the creature’s head, and tried to squeeze the trigger. He had forgot that the magazine was empty, the slide locked back.

  “One of the ghouls has Emma!” Chogan yelled.

  Alerted, Halverson flung open the front door, dashed out of the SUV, shrugged his MP7 off his shoulder, leveled the muzzle at the back of the squirming ghoul’s skull, and blasted a hole through the cerebellum and into the medulla oblongata, which burst out of the ghoul’s mouth and splatted onto the dirt. The ghoul stopped moving.

  Still screaming, Emma struggled to wrest her foot free from the creature’s hand. Kicking and jerking her foot, she managed to free herself at last and crawled on her hands and knees away from the corpse.

  “No wonder we couldn’t get up any speed,” said Halverson. “We were dragging that ghoul along under the chassis.”

  “Did it bite you?” Chogan asked Emma, who was sitting in the desert and sobbing.

  “No,” she answered, hugging her knees as she sat rolled into a fetal ball on the ground.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  In his ad hoc CIA office Slocum was sitting behind his walnut desk and speaking to Mellors, who was sitting opposite him.

  “Have you found Halverson in California yet?” asked Slocum.

  Mellors stroked his chin. “No. He’s gone off the grid.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How come the drones can’t find him, if he’s alive?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

  Puzzled, Slocum crossed his arms over his chest. “That makes no sense. Isn’t he trying to get in touch with us for help? Surely, if he saw a drone he would try to get its attention.”

  Mellors hedged. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell Slocum. One of the drones had spotted Halverson some time ago, and Mellors had ordered it to take Halverson out with a Hellfire missile. Somehow, Halverson had managed to escape.

  At least Mellors thought Halverson had escaped. Mellors didn’t know for sure, since he was unable to confirm Halverson’s death with subsequent drones that had photographed what was left of the bombed-out bank where Halverson had taken refuge from the missile in Santa Monica. The drones’ cameras had not picked up on any corpses in the rubble. Of course, there was still the possibility that Halverson’s corpse lay buried under the blast’s debris.

  Mellors had never told Slocum about the attempt on Halverson’s life. Mellors wasn’t sure Slocum had granted him the authority to take out Halverson. All Mellors knew was that Halverson knew that he had killed Halverson’s black ops buddy, Coogan. So Halverson had to go.

  “Halverson may have gone rogue,” said Mellors.

  “Why would he go rogue?”

  “I don’t know,” Mellors lied.

  “Does he know we’re looking for him?”

  “I don’t see how he could know that. We haven’t been able to contact him.”

  “We need to debrief him ASAP. We can’t have him running amok. There’s no telling who he might tell about our funding of the creation of the zombie virus.”

  Mellors applied cherry-flavored Chap Stick to his dehydrated lips with two swipes of the lip balm. The dryness of the recycled air in the bunker wreaked havoc on his skin.

  “Halverson may have left California, for all we know,” he said.

  “Is that possible? I thought the entire state was infected with plague.”

  “If zombies can inherit the earth, then anything’s possible.”

  “Cast a wider net for him. We can’t let him gallivant around without being debriefed.”

  “We’re limited to using drones. They’re all we’ve got left to conduct surveillance.”

  Slocum frowned. “Do whatever you have to do to bring him in. Search Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, wherever.”

  “We’ll get him.”

  “If the president knew Halverson was still out there, he’d have my head.”

  “Why do you have to tell him?”

  Eyes intense, flushing, on the verge of an outburst, Slocum confronted Mellors. “I don’t have to tell him anything if you round up Halverson like you’re supposed to, and do it yesterday.”

  Mellors didn’t appreciate getting read the riot act. It was Washington politics as usual, he decided—always blame somebody else for blowback. Mellors felt his jaw tremble, but he said nothing, deferring to the director.

  “I need bona fide intel that Halverson is either dead or alive,” Slocum went on.

  “It’s hard to do much of anything with our depleted manpower.”

  Slocum didn’t seem to get it, decided Mellors. The Agency was a shadow of itself. They weren’t the most powerful spy agency in the world anymore, if any spy agencies were left. Depleted by the plague, the CIA had nobody out in the field. They were down to a couple of guys in a bunker. It was like a scene out of the last ten days of Hitler.

  “If this was the best of all possible worlds, everything would be perfect,” said Slocum.

  That was saying a lot, decided Mellors trenchantly. “If we could just find a cure for this plague—”

  Slocum cut him off. “I’m tired of hearing excuses. Just do it. Bring me Halverson or bring me his head.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Southern California

  Emma made her way to the gas station’s bathroom.

  The zombie’s attack had upset Millie, Emma could see. Millie was bawling and squirming against Emma’s back. Emma tried to soothe Millie with baby talk, but it wasn’t working. Emma couldn’t blame Millie for being overwrought.

  Emma herself had all but passed out in shock when the creature under the car had snagged her foot.

  Emma tried the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked. It gave and creaked open.

  The bathroom looked like any gas s
tation restroom: disheveled and uninviting. The low-wattage overhead lamp was lit. She was surprised the electricity still worked here. Inside the lamp’s white plastic bowl lay a heap of dead insects that had been attracted to the light and then died from the heat generated by the light bulb that depended from the lamp fixture.

  The faucet was dripping into the broken white ceramic sink that had a ragged hole in its basin about an inch in diameter. Specks of white toothpaste spattered the mirror behind the sink. The coagulated paste cast blurry reflections in the mirror.

  All the comforts of home, decided Emma.

  The orange-painted metal stall door to the lone toilet was shut.

  She could feel Millie writhing on her back, needing to pee.

  Emma pressed gently against the door with the heel of her hand. Surprised, she discovered she could not push the door open. Was somebody in the stall? she wondered.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. Apprehensive, her body tense, she jerked her hand away from the door and stepped back from the stall. What if it was one of those things in there? she wondered.

  She stooped down to peek under the stall’s door to make sure somebody was inside the stall. After all, the door might be stuck.

  Crouching, she could see two legs in jeans and two feet in grimy white track shoes that pointed toward the front of the toilet. But the jeans weren’t rolled down, she noticed. Then whoever it was inside wasn’t using the john. They were probably sitting on the john, but she could not be certain of that. Maybe they were standing in front of it. Either way, it made no sense.

  Emma straightened up. She didn’t know whether she should say hello. If it was a ghoul inside the stall, she should leave right now without saying a word before the creature realized she was there. She wanted to leave, but Millie was kicking on her back needing to use the toilet.

  Emma mustered her courage and stepped toward the door. She cleared her throat.

  “Hello,” she said. “Are you OK in there?”

  No answer.

  Emma tapped on the stall’s door. “Hello?”

  She strained to hear a response, even going so far as to cup her ear with her hand and press her hand against the door.

  Nothing.

  I don’t want to be here, Emma was thinking. I don’t want to do this. But Millie needs to use the john.

  Emma pushed her hand against the stall’s door again, harder this time. To her surprise, the door swung open a few inches.

  Emma jerked back circumspectly. She still heard nothing from inside the stall. She could only hear the incessant dripping of the restroom faucet, which was starting to get on her nerves.

  The stall door didn’t open all the way. She could not see who was in the stall.

  She coughed politely. “Excuse me.”

  Could you please hurry up and do your business! she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “My baby needs to use the toilet. It’s an emergency.”

  I don’t want her to wet herself and my back. What’s wrong with your bowels, lady? Can’t you show some respect for other people who are waiting to use the toilet? Like I’m ready to go on the floor, lady.

  No response.

  Maybe whoever it was had fallen asleep, decided Emma. She could feel Millie becoming more and more restive on her back.

  “Hold your horses, Millie,” said Emma over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

  Anyone who would hog a bathroom stall while a line of people was standing outside waiting to use it was beyond rude, decided Emma.

  Fuck this! she thought. She advanced toward the ajar door and shoved it all the way open. She didn’t care if it slammed into the person inside or not. In fact, she hoped the door broke the creep’s knees. You can pee on yourself, lady, for all I care, you rude bitch. I’m coming in. Anyone that rude needed a door slammed in their face.

  The door opened all the way.

  Emma stood rooted to the spot.

  A blonde pushing thirty was sitting on the toilet, her hair done up with bobby pins. She was resting the backs of her hands on her knees. Inside each open hand was a blood-soaked blue eye. Bloody eye sockets in a blood-streaked face stared back at Emma.

  Nonplussed, shivering, Emma stood, a scream caught in her throat.

  At last she gave vent to her scream.

  Moments later, Halverson, Victoria, and Chogan came barreling into the bathroom.

  Brandishing his MP7, fueled with adrenaline, Halverson was the first to crash into the bathroom. He swung his gun right and left, ready to open fire.

  Chogan and Victoria piled in behind him.

  “Jesus Christ!” said Chogan as soon as he clapped eyes on the blonde sitting in the stall.

  “What’s this all about?” said Victoria, grimacing in consternation at the blonde, barely able to prevent her stomach from heaving.

  “It looks like she gouged her eyes out,” said Halverson.

  “What the hell for?” said Chogan.

  “Is she one of them?” asked Victoria.

  “I don’t think so,” answered Halverson. “She’s not moving. Those things are always in motion.”

  “Why in the name of all that’s holy would she pluck her own eyes out?” said Chogan.

  “Maybe she thought she was gonna turn into a ghoul and couldn’t stand the idea of looking at herself,” said Halverson.

  “She must’ve gotten bit by a zombie, if she thought she was gonna turn,” said Victoria.

  “Then why didn’t she turn?” said Chogan.

  Halverson could not bear dwelling on it, but he came up with an explanation. “When she gouged her eyes out, she must’ve damaged her brain. If your brain’s destroyed, you can’t turn.”

  Emma covered her face with her hands. “What a horrible way to die.”

  She pelted out of the bathroom.

  CHAPTER 23

  Halverson, Chogan, and Victoria followed Emma out of the restroom and returned to their SUV.

  Victoria loped over to Emma to comfort her. Victoria didn’t exactly feel calm at the moment, but Emma looked in worse shape.

  “Millie still needs to pee,” said Emma.

  “Do you want to go back to the restroom?” asked Victoria.

  Emma shook her head violently. “No. We’ll go behind one of the cars.”

  She angled toward the freeway then wended her way through the abandoned cars till she reached the other side of the road and dropped out of Victoria’s sight behind one of the cars.

  Victoria waited for her to finish.

  Returning to the Explorer Halverson spotted the dead hitchhiking zombie that sprawled next to it.

  Halverson got down on his hands and knees and searched the chassis making sure no more ghouls were clinging to it. Satisfied there were no more unwelcome hitchhikers, he stood up and brushed dirt off his trousers’ knees.

  He scoped out his surroundings. All around, the arid brown desert flats stretched into quiet infinity.

  He squinted in the sun. In the far distance, five trudging ghouls groped the air as if lost in the shimmering heat. They were so far away they looked like stick figures.

  Halverson, Victoria, Chogan, and Emma piled back into the Explorer.

  Skirting the freeway Halverson drove the Explorer toward Vegas.

  Victoria sat beside him, Chogan and Emma in the backseat.

  “I hope I never end up like that woman in the bathroom,” said Emma, face drawn.

  “If thine eye offends thee, pluck it out,” muttered Victoria, gazing into the distance.

  “What?”

  “It’s from the Bible.”

  “What kind of screwy advice is that?”

  Victoria said nothing.

  “What would you do if you knew you were gonna turn into a zombie?” Chogan asked Emma.

  Emma closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “You may have to think about it in the future, whether you like it or not.”

  Emma held her hands over he
r ears so she didn’t have to listen to Chogan.

  “Hear no evil, see no evil, huh? That doesn’t make it go away.”

  Victoria glanced over her shoulder toward the backseat at Emma. “You’re bumming her out. Leave her alone.”

  “Just saying,” said Chogan. “Chances are good we’ll all become infected.”

  An unnerving silence filled the car.

  The future didn’t look bright, decided Halverson, but they had to keep going. He wasn’t going to give in to the walking dead. He drove over a bump in the ground.

  “Ow,” said Emma, jostled in her seat.

  “Sorry about that,” said Halverson.

  “How many healthy people besides us are left on earth you think?” Chogan went on, casting around the empty desert for signs of life as he gazed through the window.

  “We need more guns and ammo,” said Halverson.

  “The less people left alive, the more guns left for us.”

  “If there’s anyone left alive with the capability to fight this plague, they’re back in Washington.”

  “Unless everybody’s wiped out in Washington.”

  “Somebody’s flying those drones over us. Only the federal government uses drones.”

  “Just three thousand miles to go. Not good.”

  “First things first. We see if anyone’s alive in Vegas and get weapons there.”

  They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence.

  Halverson spotted scattered living dead scrabbling through the desert, but saw no hordes of the creatures teeming along his route. The stragglers seemed lost in the barren wasteland, as if they had become separated from the herd and were now roaming in confusion. Perhaps they were trying to reconnect with their herd, decided Halverson.

  As isolated individuals the living dead weren’t half as terrifying as they were in packs, Halverson knew. Their fear factor rose in direct relationship to their numbers. The more the scarier.

  It made sense for the zombie packs to avoid the desert, if anything zombies did made sense, figured Halverson. After all, deserts lacked human life, most animal life for that matter. Packs of the living dead would favor high-density populations like urban areas . . . like Las Vegas, Halverson suddenly realized. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go to Vegas. But there might be uninfected people there. If it was as bad as Los Angeles, Halverson and his band could always take a powder for the desert.