Zombie Apocalypse

by Cassiday, Bryan

  “Nobody’ll be in charge if your experiments don’t succeed. I can’t impress upon you strongly enough their importance. We need an effective means of elimination.”

  “Repeating your request isn’t gonna make it happen.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  “The problem is, it may take a while before we can see the results of our experimentation.”

  Socrates paused a beat. “We’re counting on you. You’re a vital member of our team.”

  He hung up before Guzman had a chance to answer.

  Sneering, Guzman glared at his mute satphone.

  He may have been a transhumanist, but he wasn’t a miracle worker. Socrates would just have to stick his thumb up his ass and cool his heels, decided Guzman.

  CHAPTER 51

  Halverson, Swiggum, and Klecko were constellated in the guest room’s bathroom. The shower was already running, hissing, and impinging on the tub, ginning up a racket. Halverson twisted the water cocks on the sink full blast, adding to the din. Steam commenced swirling in the room.

  If there was a video camera in here, the steam would prevent it from being able to read their lips, Halverson figured.

  “What’s this about?” asked Swiggum.

  “We need to get out of here,” answered Halverson. “We can’t put it off any longer. They’re gonna take us out of here one by one and methodically kill us.”

  “I’m with you,” said Klecko, head canted to the side and shoulders hunched like he was hanging on every word. “We need a plan.”

  “We’ve covered this same territory before,” said Swiggum. “We’re trapped in a room by armed guards and we have no weapons. What’s changed? It’s hopeless.” He shrugged, puzzled why Halverson was broaching the subject again.

  “We do have weapons,” said Halverson.

  “What weapons? We can’t use the eating utensils because they’re plastic. A plastic knife is a joke against hazmat uniforms and MP7s.”

  “I’m not talking about plastic knives. I’m talking about the wooden chairs.”

  “You mean, club ’em with the chairs when they come in?”

  “Why not?”

  “Their heads are protected by those helmets,” said Klecko.

  “Those helmets are mostly made out of Tyvek like their coveralls, except for the glass faceplate. Tyvek’s not gonna hold up against a blow to the head.”

  Wheezing, Klecko puckered his face in bemusement. “What’s Tyvek?”

  “The cloth the uniforms are made of.”

  “But how can we ambush the guards with the video camera watching our every move?” said Swiggum. “The guy monitoring the CCTV will see us standing at the door with the chairs in our hands and report us to the guards.”

  “We need to create a diversion, and we can’t stand at the door with the chairs raised over our heads. We can’t telegraph our intentions to the monitor. As soon as the door opens, we’ll have to move quickly to grab the chairs and club the guards.”

  “What kind of diversion?”

  Halverson thought about it. “Maybe Victoria can pretend to be having a convulsion in the middle of the room as the guards enter. While they’re distracted, we can ambush them with the chairs.”

  “I don’t know,” said Swiggum. “What about the guards in the hall. They’re gonna come to the aid of the guards we’re attacking.”

  “We need to shut the door behind the guards after they enter and cut off their retreat.”

  Swiggum fetched a sigh. “The timing will have to be spot-on.”

  “If we shut the door, how will we escape?” said Klecko. “The guards in the hallway will lock us in.”

  “After we overpower the guards in here, we’ll swipe their keys, snag their guns, and shoot our way out,” said Halverson.

  Swiggum screwed up his face. “Our chances are slim and none, if you ask me.”

  “Do you have a better idea? If we don’t get out of here soon, Hector’ll waste all of us.”

  “Yeah,” said Klecko, sniveling thanks to the water vapor misting around them as the warm water streamed out of the showerhead and rattled against the porcelain tub.

  “Maybe if we had more people in on this,” said Swiggum. “What about enlisting Nordstrom?”

  “He doesn’t think we’re in any danger,” said Halverson.

  “He thinks Probst and Simone are fine and dandy and waiting for us in another room,” said Klecko.

  Halverson nodded. “That’s the problem with Nordstrom. I don’t know if we can count on his help.”

  “What about Victoria?” asked Swiggum.

  “She’ll help.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “She wants out of here as much as we do.”

  Swiggum paced around the stuffy bathroom. “The question is, how will we know when the guards are gonna open the door? They don’t give any warning. The door just suddenly opens.”

  Halverson massaged his chin reflectively. “That’s the tricky part. We need to be ready for them when they enter.”

  “They never come at the same time.”

  “Somebody will have to stay close enough to the door at all times so they can hear when the guards are approaching.”

  The door swung open and slammed into Halverson’s back.

  CHAPTER 52

  Pain shooting up his spine, Halverson flinched. He slewed around on his heel and confronted Wolfman and one of his guards training their MP7s on him.

  “What are you doing in here?” demanded Wolfman. “Sharing a stall? Turn that damn water off!”

  Klecko turned off the shower, and Halverson followed suit with the water cocks on the sink.

  Wolfman jabbed his MP7’s muzzle into Halverson’s back. Halverson winced at the pain as he stood beside the sink, rubbing his back with his hand. He felt like driving his fist through Wolfman’s face, but he knew he would not have a chance of making contact with it with that faceplate that Wolfman wore acting as a shield.

  Halverson cursed at the pain that stabbed through his back.

  Wolfman mouthed the word “what?”

  “What’s your problem?” said Halverson.

  “You’re my problem.” Wolfman threatened to strike Halverson again with the MP7’s muzzle. “Didn’t you hear me call out for the next person?”

  “No.”

  “It’s no wonder with all this water you have running in here. What’s the big idea? This some kind of threesome sharing a shower stall?”

  Halverson had to think on a dime to come up with an answer. “We were seeing if the water works in here.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “The water works.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t pull this stunt again or you’ll pay for it.”

  “There’s no point in doing it again. Everything works.”

  Wolfman glowered through his faceplate at Halverson for a moment then flourished his MP7 at him. “Get out of there! All of you!”

  Halverson, Swiggum, and Klecko filed out of the bathroom.

  “Why are you here anyway?” Swiggum asked Wolfman.

  “Haven’t you been listening? We’re here for the next person to get decontaminated.”

  Swiggum eyed Wolfman nervously.

  “No, not you,” said Wolfman. “You,” he told Klecko.

  Flustered, Klecko stepped back. “I don’t need it.”

  “You do need it.” Wolfman surveyed the others in the room. “Everybody here needs to get decontaminated. Nobody’s getting out of this. It’s for your own good.”

  Klecko balked.

  Wolfman waved his MP7 at him.

  Reluctantly, Klecko shambled toward the door to the hallway.

  “It’s easy,” said Wolfman. “All you do is take a shower.”

  “Then how come nobody ever returns?” said Swiggum.

  “They’re waiting for the rest of you in a different room. If we brought them back here, they’d get contaminated all over again by being with you guys.”

  “What’d I
tell you?” said Nordstrom, smiling as he looked at Swiggum and Halverson. “You guys are paranoid.”

  “No,” said Swiggum. “You’re a naïve numskull.”

  Wolfman squired Klecko out the door.

  None too happy about it, Klecko dragged his feet toward the hall.

  Wolfman gave him a shove to kick-start him on his way into the hall. Wolfman pulled the door shut behind him and locked it as he left.

  “And then there were four,” said Swiggum grimly, taking in his companions.

  Nordstrom ignored him and returned to fidgeting with his camera.

  Five minutes later, surprising Halverson, the door swung open again.

  “Back so soon?” said Swiggum, puzzled.

  “What did you forget?” said Halverson.

  “We forgot you,” said Wolfman.

  He latched onto Halverson’s forearm with his gloved hand. Halverson resisted and tried to pull free.

  Wolfman scythed the MP7 in his other hand toward Halverson, acquiring Halverson in his sights. Halverson slapped his hand at the MP7’s barrel and knocked the weapon out of Wolfman’s hand. The MP7 clattered to the floor and slid toward the open door. Halverson dove for the gun.

  As Halverson dove, Wolfman launched a kick at Halverson’s head. The kick sent Halverson sprawling on the floor.

  Picking up on Wolfman’s MP7, eyes wide, Swiggum bolted toward it.

  At that moment three of Wolfman’s men barreled into the room, M4 carbines at the ready. One of the men sliced his M4 through the air and pistol-whipped Swiggum in the face.

  Grimacing in pain Swiggum stopped dead in his tracks and massaged his gashed cheek that was streaming blood.

  “Fucker,” hissed Swiggum.

  The beefy guard clouted Swiggum upside the head. Stunned by the blow, squinting his swimming eyes in agony, Swiggum reeled backward.

  As Halverson sprawled on the floor and tried to scrabble to his feet, Wolfman kicked him again in the head, leaned down, and snagged his MP7.

  Knocked senseless for a few moments, Halverson lay motionless on his stomach on the floor. When he came to, Wolfman was hauling him to his feet and frog-marching him to the door. The other three soldiers were guarding Wolfman’s retreat with their weapons trained on Swiggum and Victoria.

  “I don’t understand,” said Swiggum, turning to Victoria and wincing at his slashed cheek. “Why’d they come back so fast?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” said Victoria, biting her lip in consternation as she watched Wolfman haul Halverson out the door.

  “If you don’t fight these guys, they won’t bother you,” said Nordstrom. “You’re bringing this on yourselves.”

  “We have to get out of here,” said Swiggum. “I’m not gonna just sit here and wait to die like you.”

  Nordstrom blew out his cheeks with frustration. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “You’re gonna get it in the neck, like Probst and Simone. You’re just too stupid to know it. Our lives are at stake here.”

  The guards retreated out of the room and locked the door behind them.

  “Why’d they come back so fast for Halverson?” muttered Swiggum, mulling it over with a scowl.

  He plucked a handkerchief out of his rear trouser pocket and stanched his bleeding cheek.

  “Does that mean we get only five minutes now till their next visit?” said Victoria, visibly agitated by the prospect.

  “It means it’s time to take a nap,” said Nordstrom.

  He approached a cot, yawned, and stretched out supine on it.

  CHAPTER 53

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  President Cole had gathered his administration together in Area B’s Situation Room. Secretary of Defense General Eugene D. Byrd, CIA Director Ernest Slocum, FBI Director Harold Paris, Director of Homeland Security Sheila Klauss, NSA Director Burton Holmes III, and the deputy director of the National Clandestine Service Scot Mellors sat around the large rectangular walnut table with Cole.

  “I’ve summoned all of you here on account of recent reports I’ve been receiving,” said Cole at the head of the table.

  His careworn avuncular face now sported predominantly light grey hair. The pandemic of plague combined with his subsequent nuking of the world to eradicate the disease had literally turned his hair white.

  Holmes peered over his rimless spectacles at Cole. “What kind of reports, Mr. President?”

  “The nukes didn’t kill all the infected flesh eaters. Some of the infected are still out there wandering around cannibalizing what’s left of humanity.”

  “I can’t believe that,” said General Byrd and jutted his equine face out over the tabletop. “There’s no way in hell any living thing could survive our nukes.”

  “That’s the problem,” said Mellors. “They’re not living. They’re already dead to begin with.”

  “If they’re walking around, they’re alive,” said General Byrd. He turned to Cole. “How sure are we of these reports you’ve gotten, Mr. President?”

  “My sources are reliable,” said Cole.

  “Then what do we do now?” said Holmes.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, Tony.”

  “Increase the megatonnage of the A-bombs we blast the suckers with,” said Byrd. “Bomb their asses to hell and back.”

  “But the A-bombs didn’t work the first time,” said DHS Director Sheila Klauss. “Why should they work this time?”

  “Because we didn’t use enough megatonnage. That’s the only explanation.” Byrd choreographed his sentence with a demonstrative wave of his hand.

  “We can’t have a whole lot of nukes left, can we?”

  Shrugging, Byrd grunted. “We didn’t use ’em all.”

  “What about another means of destroying them? There might be another way that’s more effective.”

  “We’re working on that,” said Slocum.

  “I’m still convinced those things are dead,” said Byrd. “They just don’t know it yet. They’ll keel over soon. For some reason, it’s taking them longer to die than it did the others.”

  “What do you mean?” said Cole.

  “I mean, they soaked up so much radiation, it’s just a matter of time before they drop dead.” Byrd opened his catcher’s mitt of a hand above the table’s surface then clenched his fingers into a fist, signifying the destruction of the flesh eaters.

  Cole looked thoughtful. “I wish I could believe you about that.”

  “You can, Mr. President. Mark my words, it’s just a matter of time. Anything alive and aboveground that absorbed as much radiation as we spread with our massive arsenal of nukes can’t possibly stay alive much longer. It’s a lead-pipe cinch.”

  He nodded his head with a violent jerk to punctuate his remark then challenged everybody’s face at the table one at a time with a direct stare as if to convince them of the truth of his words.

  “Can I quote you on that?” said Slocum skeptically.

  Byrd cast a glare at Slocum. “You’re a bunch of worrywarts at the Agency.”

  “Does that mean the Pentagon isn’t working on any other means of killing the infected flesh eaters?”

  “As a matter of fact, we are. I don’t believe in leaving anything to chance. At this time, however, until we have an alternative, I still think we should load up the flesh eaters with more radiation via A-bombs. Contaminate them with enough radiation, and they’ll drop dead.” Byrd pumped his fist in the air in a victory salute.

  Cole stroked his chin meditatively. “I wish I could share your conviction.” He paused. “We need to be prepared for any contingency.”

  “What do we do next, Mr. President?” said Klauss.

  “We can’t tell the public about this development. They need to believe all of the flesh eaters are dead, that we killed all of the infected with the nukes.”

  “Or they’ll blame us not only for failing to kill the things but for blowing up the entire country in the barga
in,” said Mellors.

  “I don’t need you to tell me what they’ll think.”

  Mellors cleared his throat. “Sorry, Mr. President.”

  Mellors had no desire to get on the bad side of Cole. In fact, Cole might be the only one who could help him with his investigation of the Orchid Organization, if he could ever finesse a private session with Cole. Cole was the last person Mellors wanted to alienate.

  “The problem is, the public will panic if they find out any flesh eaters are still alive,” said Cole. “At this point, panic is our greatest enemy, even greater than both nuclear radiation and the infected cannibals.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I wonder how many citizens are still alive out there,” said Slocum, adjusting his watered foulard necktie.

  “Anyone in a bomb shelter is safe,” said Byrd.

  “How long is it gonna be before they start coming out? They’re not gonna wait in their shelters forever.”

  “I’ve made announcements telling them to stay in their shelters until I give the all-clear signal,” said Cole.

  “What about when they run out of food and water?” said Slocum. “They won’t have any choice but to leave the shelters.”

  Cole turned on Slocum. “What do you want me to do about it, Ernest?”

  Slocum flinched, not expecting Cole to jump down his throat. “No disrespect meant, Mr. President. I’m just trying to clarify what the circumstances are so we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Let me make this clear. Above all else, we must not panic the public. There’s no telling what a hysterical mob of people will do. They could inflict more damage than the plague and the atom bombs combined.”

  “A panicked mob won’t be good, I can tell you that,” said Byrd.

  “They might even turn against us,” said Mellors, voicing what everybody else at the table was thinking.

  Cole gave Mellors a look.

  Mellors wondered if he had put his foot in his mouth again. He was going to apologize, but thought better of it. Since Cole had not called him on the carpet, Mellors decided to keep his own counsel.

  The room fell silent.

  At last, Cole said, “I’ll prepare an address advising them that they’ll be able to leave their bunkers soon. We must inspire the public and keep them optimistic.”