by Brian Keene
"Enjoying the view, Professor Baker?"
"I'm afraid that I can't see much from where I'm sitting."
"That will change soon enough, Professor. I promise you a better vantage point. Now tell me, is there anybody left alive at Havenbrook."
"I've told you repeatedly, not that I know of. But Havenbrook is a large facility! You can't imagine the scope and size. As for the rest of it, I can't speak for some of the other secure areas, since I was never inside them."
"Indeed," Schow trimmed his fingernail calmly, "so you've insisted. Just you and this-Ob-I believe you referred to it as, yes?"
"Correct," Baker said. "Ob was what it called itself. You've got to understand, Colonel, these things are not the people we knew when they were alive. Once the body dies, these creatures inhabit it. They use it as a host; a vehicle of sorts."
"Fascinating. And why do you suppose this possession occurs only after the victim has died?"
"Because these demons, for lack of a better word, occupy the place where the soul was. The soul needs to have departed before they can move in."
"The soul, eh? Then tell me Professor, if this is true, why do the animals become zombies too? Do animals have souls?"
"I don't know," Baker exclaimed, "Nor do I want to have a philosophical argument with you Colonel. I'm a scientist. I'm only reporting what I've learned."
"You were a fairly celebrated scientist, were you not?"
Baker didn't reply.
"You were. My men tell me they saw you on CNN. Never watched it myself. Too biased. But I read a great deal, and I'm familiar with your work. You were numero uno. The big man. The head cheese. I'm sure there's more than you're willing to tell me. I can respect that. Perhaps you don't want to betray your security clearance.
But there's no government left to betray, Professor. I'm it-all that's left in this part of the country. Consider that for a moment, if you would."
"I've already told you, Colonel, that I will not go back to Havenbrook.
It's madness to try! Whatever it is that you think you'll find, let me assure you that you won't. The only thing left at Havenbrook is a creature of great evil!"
Ignoring him, Schow turned his attention to Skip.
"What are your thoughts, Private?"
"I think you're insane," Skip responded. "You're going to kill me anyway, so fuck you, Colonel Schow. Fuck you very much, you crazy asshole."
"Kill you?" Schow put on a show of mock wounding, clasping his hand to his chest. "Kill you? No, Private, you misunderstand. You were found guilty of treason, and worse yet, cowardice. We're simply going to give you a chance to prove your bravery again."
He began to laugh and a second later, Gonzalez, McFarland and Torres joined him.
"We're over the target now sir," the pilot reported from the front.
"Good!" Schow became animated. "Let us begin. Gentlemen, if you would."
McFarland and Gonzalez left their seats and removed something long and black from the storage box. Baker couldn't tell what it was, but it appeared to be made of rubber. Even though he couldn't see Skip, he felt the man shaking against him.
They hooked one end of the item to a winch, and Baker realized that it was a bungee cord.
"Take us down a bit," Torres ordered the pilot, "then level it off."
"Oh no," Skip pleaded. "Come on, Colonel. Not this! Anything but this!"
"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Private. I lied. We are going to kill you after all. Of course, as you've already indicated, you were well aware of that fact when we got on the helicopter. Just take heart in the fact that you will get to prove your bravery before you die."
The two officers strapped a harness around his midsection. His hands and feet still tied behind him, Skip was unable to resist. Instead, he began to make choking noises in his throat. Baker realized the man was literally choking on tears.
"Please," he begged, "don't do this, man! For God's sake, don't do this!
Not like this. Just shoot me-shoot me and be done with it!"
"There is no honor for you in that," Schow told him calmly. "And to be honest with you, Private, I would not want to waste the ammunition."
Skip moaned. They dragged him over to the door and slid it open. A blast of cold air rocked them all, and Baker cringed against it. Skip's mouth was moving silently, and his eyes looked ready to explode from his head.
"Please, shoot me! Cut my fucking throat! But don't do this!"
"Any last words?" McFarland asked him.
"Yeah," Skip said, his panic suddenly replaced with an icy resolve.
"Fuck you crazy, sadistic mother-fuckers! I hope you all die! Don't tell them anything Baker! Don't lead them to Havenbrook cause they'll just kill you too when you're done!"
He leaned forward and spat in Schow's face.
Schow's expression remained calm, emotionless. He waved a disinterested hand at Skip and wiped the saliva away with a handkerchief.
"Bon voyage!" Gonzalez called, and pushed him out the door.
Skip's scream was one long, drawn out wail, and Baker closed his eyes and waited for it to fade.
"Show them," Schow ordered, and they dragged Baker and Worm to the door.
Skip plummeted headfirst toward the ground, the bungee cord trailing along behind him. Below the helicopter lay a barren field, and in the field, a crowd of zombies had gathered in anticipation.
Skip fell directly toward them. He closed his eyes as the wind whistled in his burning ears, feeling his stomach drop into his throat. His bowels and bladder weakened at the same time, and the foul warmth inside his trousers seeped out and ran down his back, his chest, then into his hair, before falling ahead of him.
As Baker watched in horror, the zombies craned their heads and arms toward the offering from the sky. Skip landed in their midst, but then the cord snapped tight and he shot upward again, the helicopter rocking slightly as he did.
Down he went again and this time, the zombies managed several bites before he was pulled back skyward.
Worm cried out and buried his chin against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. Baker found he could not look away, even though he desperately wanted to.
Bleeding and screaming, gravity brought Skip down for a third descent, and this time the zombies latched on tight. They clustered around him, pushing and shoving at each other in their rush to get at him. The wave of human bodies crashed upon him, bearing him to the ground, and began to tear at him. Skin and muscle were torn away, and limbs were gnawed down to the bone.
The helicopter rocked again under the sudden additional weight.
"Steady," Torres cautioned. "Don't lose it."
McFarland and Gonzalez were laughing.
"I love this shit!" Gonzalez clapped the other man on the shoulder.
"Look at them go! It's like a school of piranha. They're so hungry, they ain't even leaving enough to get up and walk around."
"Yes, they will," McFarland argued. "They always do. They'll leave the head at least."
Schow said nothing, watching impassively, as if he was bored.
"Heh," Gonzalez snorted. "Did you see his intestines fall out on that other one's head? Too funny. Gut shampoo!"
"Enough," Schow ordered. "Bring him up."
The winch began to hum as the rope and the bungee cord attached to it began to rise. Something red and wet and unrecognizable was attached to it. Grimacing, they unstrapped the remains and shoved the carcass back out, where it splashed into the midst of the clamoring zombies.
Schow pointed at Worm.
"Now the retard, if you would please."
Baker froze. "No, you can't! Leave him alone!"
"It's too late for your protestations, Professor. While you've certainly been taught a lesson today, I think it's time we made it more personal."
"For God's sake, Schow, the boy did nothing to you! He's harmless! He doesn't even understand what's happening!"
"He'll understand soon enough," McFarland grunted, lifting W
orm from the floor. "Stop struggling you fucking dummy!"
Worm's teeth sank into the Captain's hand. Shrieking, he pulled it back and Worm rolled away.
"Bayhker! Dohntleht thim hurht mee!"
"God damn you Schow, he's innocent! He's just a boy!"
Gonzalez sat on Worm, forcing him to lie still. McFarland strapped the bloodstained harness onto him. Tattered bits of Skip still hung from the straps. Worm began to scream Baker's name over and over again; a shrieking, siren-like keening that had no end.
"BayyyyyyyyykhernTrrrr!''
"Say goodbye to your friend, Professor."
They shoved Worm towards the doors.
"Okay!" Baker cried. "Okay, I'll do it! I'll lead you inside Havenbrook!
Just please don't hurt him." He broke down, sobbing into the seat cushion.
"You see gentlemen," Schow said, "how well the power of persuasion works? Very good, Professor. I trust that you are a man of your word.
But just in case, I think I'd better keep your young companion with me.
Think of it as insurance."
"And you won't hurt him."
"I give you my word. He'll be fine. In fact, he'll have much better quarters than you will, I'm afraid. But remember your promise."
Baker glared at him. "I'll take you to Havenbrook, Colonel. But you're not going to like what you find there."
"I'm getting out-now."
Martin blinked the sleep from his eyes. "You can't, Jim. They'll catch you and kill you before you even get out of town."
"I've got no choice, Martin! Danny's life depends on it. He's alive, and I don't know how I know, but he is! I can feel it."
"Jim, I know you want to get to your boy, but think about it. You can't just waltz out of here!"
"Would you two shut up? People are trying to sleep!"
The angry whisper came from their left. The movie theatre was pitch black and they couldn't see the speaker until he crawled forward. He wore wire-rim glasses and one of the lenses was cracked. His small goatee and mustache were unkempt and wiry, as was his hair. At one point he had probably been very collegiate looking, but weeks of forced labor and the hellish conditions of the movie theatre had undone that.
"Sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to be so harsh. But some of these guys in here will carve your heart out with a spoon just for an extra piece of bread. You don't want to disturb them."
"Thanks for the tip," Jim said, "but we don't intend on being here long enough for them to try."
"Yeah, I couldn't help but overhear that. That's another thing you want to be careful of. We've got snitches in here, and they'll sell your soul to Schow quicker than anything."
"How has he managed to get away with this?" Martin whispered.
"I don't know the whole story, because I'm not from here," the man said.
"I'm originally from Brooklyn. They captured me a few weeks ago, on my way through Chambersburg. I'd planned on getting into the Appalachians and hiding out; finding some place safe. My friend said we should just go to the Hamptons, but I hated that fucking place even before all this shit started. The Appalachians sounded pretty good."
"The country's just as dangerous as the populated areas," Jim told him.
"You'd be no better off there."
"I'm sorry, Mister?"
"Thurmond. Jim Thurmond. This is Reverend Thomas Martin."
"I'm Madison Haringa. I was a schoolteacher. Now, I don't know what I am. Lost, I suppose. Alive. Anyway, you seem pretty pessimistic about our chances for survival, yet if I overheard correctly, you're risking your life breaking out of here to rescue a friend of yours?"
"Danny. My son. He's still alive and I need to get to New Jersey and find him."
"Jersey?" Haringa coughed. "Mr. Thurmond, if he's anywhere near the Big Apple, then that's the most dangerous place of all. You said the country isn't safe, but I'm here to tell you, New York and New Jersey are teeming with those things. The only relatively safe parts of Jersey are places like the Pine Barrens and the farmlands."
"I can imagine New York City is pretty bad," Martin said, "but surely some people made it out?"
"Not that I know of," Haringa answered. "I haven't met a single survivor who was in New York City since I left. The undead seem to be massing there. And I've heard of them gathering in other locations as well. It's almost like they're building armies."
"Then I'll fight their army if I have to," Jim said. "But in any case, I've got to go now."
Haringa sighed. "Mr. Thurmond, weren't you listening? If you're lucky, very lucky, you'll be shot trying to escape. If you insist on doing this, hope for that. Schow's alternatives are much worse."
"Who is he," Martin asked, "and why don't these people fight back?"
"From what I gather, the unit was assigned to protect Gettysburg. But as things fell apart, so did the sanity of the men in command, especially Schow's. It started simply at first. He imposed martial law and curfews and selected 'volunteers' for various work details. The townspeople complied. What choice did they have? It was either that, or the zombies.
By the time things around here got really twisted, most of them had already been lulled into compliance."
"They're like sheep," Jim spat. "Afraid to fight back so they just blindly accept it all."
"How would they fight back, Mr. Thurmond? They don't have any weapons.
Clubs and rocks won't stand up against heavy armor and machine guns.
They may outnumber the soldiers, but the soldiers would even those odds pretty quickly. And what would happen if they did rise up? If they overthrew Schow's men? Would they be safe then? No. It would be worse.
Despite all of the atrocities being committed here, these people are still alive. They know who's responsible for that. You'd be surprised what people will do to survive."
"No I wouldn't. Because I'd move heaven and earth to save my son, and Mr. Haringa, I intend to do just that."
Haringa ruefully shook his head.
Jim glared at him. "Do you have children, Mr. Haringa?"
"No. No I don't, but-"
"Then shut the hell up."
They fell into a brooding silence, then the schoolteacher leaned in closer, and motioned for them to huddle.
"You really think your son is alive?"
"I know he is."
"Then I'll help you. But wait till morning. You'll never make it tonight."
"How can you help?"
"I'm betting that they'll assign both of you to the sanitation crew.
With that wound on your shoulder and his age, they won't want to stick you on heavy duty yet. Despite their callousness, they do try to keep the workers alive, if they can, and they're not going to waste the two of you right away."
"Go on."
"I'm on trash pickup too. When we get close to the edge of town, I'll start a distraction and you can make a break for it then."
"Will that work?"
"Probably not. But you'll get farther than you would now, and it beats a bullet in the dark."
A sudden noise from behind alerted them and Haringa disappeared into the darkness. Both Jim and Martin feigned sleep, but Jim kept a watchful eye open.
"It won't work."
The speaker crawled up between them.
"I know you're not asleep. I heard everything. Your plan won't work because they plan to move us all out tomorrow."
"Who are you?" Jim asked.
"Professor William Baker. No need to introduce yourselves. I was listening the whole time."
Martin sat up again and a moment later Haringa rejoined them.
"You're new too," Haringa observed. "I haven't seen you before."
"My companion and I were captured early this morning."
Jim cracked his knuckles. "Where is your friend now?"
"Schow is holding him hostage, using him as leverage
against me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"As I said, they plan on moving the entir
e operation tomorrow. I worked for the Havenbrook Laboratories in Hellertown. It's a secure research complex. Massive in scope and size. You could easily fit an army there.
Schow intends to make that his permanent base of operations. He's using my friend as insurance to make sure that I guide them there and get them safely inside the complex."
