Zombie Zero

by J. K. Norry

  “Three.” Was the voice programmed to sound more mocking as it counted down?

  Mallory didn’t have a moment to wonder. He heard another clip clacking into place up the hallway, and a sword was swinging at his head. He caught the arc of the wrist and crushed it to paste in the same movement. The man cried out as he tossed him to the end of the hallway. Immediately behind him was the flattened body, striking him in flight to send them both sliding further away along the smooth tiled floor.

  “Two,” Mallory murmured under his breath, although he couldn’t hear the voice anymore. A barrage of gunfire struck his face and chest as he turned to the woman and began to advance on her.

  She ran out of bullets as he closed half the gap between them. Brazenly standing her ground, she pressed a button on her wrist; three little red dots appeared on Mallory’s heaving chest. She raised her arm a little, and red light flashed in his rusted eyes.

  “One,” he said, and dove at her feet.

  Two explosions filled the hallway behind them. They were a rolling mess of fire and heat that tumbled and slid to land against the wall where the first man had left a fatal impression. They fought while they burned, and by the time they landed in a heap together her suit was pounded flat in a half dozen lethal places. Mallory shook his head as she gasped, in disbelief and admiration.

  She wheezed, tried to speak. “Activate-“

  Mallory pounded her head flat against the floor with three sudden blows. He bent the sheet of metal, bones and brains into an easy handle and dragged her slowly down the hallway once more. His other taloned hand grasped the hilt of the sword still sticking from his belly as he walked, pulled it a third of the way out. His fingers were sliced as they moved along the blade, and as they grasped it to pull once more. He felt the end tickling his insides as he finally pulled the blade free, and he dropped her body on the floor next to the bloody sword at the end of the hall.

  He sighed, looking down at his mangled mess of a torso as it came together again. Bending, Mallory retrieved the sword where he had dropped it. Thrusting it downward, he pierced the dead woman’s armor. The blade slid through her torso, through the other side of the exoskeleton, and lodged several inches deep in the concrete floor under her. Blood welled in the opening as he pulled the sword free, and he licked a taste of it from the end of the glistening blade.

  “Your own swords are the only thing that can pierce your armor?” he asked the dead woman, and the smoking pile of debris nearby that surely contained some traces of her comrades.

  He smiled a ghastly grin.

  “That knowledge would have come in handy an hour ago,” he muttered.

  Jogging to the door with stairs imprinted on it, two long swords sheathed at his back, Mallory swung it open and dashed inside. He leapt down one flight of stairs, then another, settling each time with a resounding clang on the grated metal landing. As he soared through the air once more, he heard a quiet frightened voice far below.

  “Dad?” her voice quavered as his feet pounded metal again. “Dad, is that you? Please tell me that’s you…”

  “It’s me, sweetie,” he called out. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she called back. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

  Chapter 18

  North of one of the largest cities in the world, Josh and Sarah were working on a new song. Leroy was helping. They had come to Harmony Lodge to write and record their next album. The zombies had spread, and then word of them had, and now they were just grateful to have gotten out of the city. It was hard to sing of love and loss when the only thing they had left was each other, and when no one but them would likely ever hear the album. Such thoughts had driven them into a shared silent melancholy a couple days ago. Then Leroy had done something adorable, and Sarah forgot what state the world was in for a moment. She had grabbed her phone, took a picture and posted it to his Momentgram account. “Hey,” she had said. “The internet is back up.” They set out immediately to record a new album, a final album, and share it with what remained of the rest of the world. In another large city, in the same country…

  Somewhere between a thousand and ten thousand mouthfuls of flesh, Allen began to tire of the taste. The intimacy he shared with Maya began to become pain at the intimacy they would never share. Perhaps becoming a zombie had made his own thoughts more plain to him, or covering the world with flesh-eating monsters had given him time to examine them like never before. Either way, Allen had long since faced the fact that he was, and always had been, in love with Maya. It was the reason he had spent so much time with her, the reason he’d tolerated Todd, the reason he had never even asked other girls out. He wasn’t being shy, or picky, or any of the other silly things he always said; he was waiting for Maya.

  As his own behaviors had come clear to him, Allen had seen Todd in a different light. Todd was an achiever, and Maya was one of his achievements. She knew that as well as Allen did; she was a smart girl. She also knew that she could turn from one of them to the other at any time, and she never had. Somewhere in facing the truth about himself he had faced the truth about her as well: she had never wanted him, not like that. It was tempting to think that if she hadn’t become the first zombie, things might have changed; but those were thoughts for the weak mind that he had shed with his soft flesh.

  Allen had always thought of Todd as a douche. Despite his fondness for being precise in his definitions of words, he had always liked the way it sounded in his head. When he had thought of Todd in the past, that was the word he substituted for the simple moniker. Having taken a step back from his own life, Allen realized that Todd had been exceedingly kind to him. Had their situations and body types been reversed, Allen doubted that he would have been so tolerant of Todd hanging about all the time. It was not an easy moment when Allen saw who the douche in the situation had actually been.

  Reflective surfaces had become his enemy when his skin had begun to fall from his face. Allen had never thought of himself as a great-looking guy, or anything; but he had never had trouble looking in a mirror. It seemed strange to him that he somehow had the courage to look at himself like never before while being unable to tolerate even a glimpse of his own changed features. He knew what his body looked like, and his hands: he had watched his long legs pumping to chase down helpless prey, had seen those powerful claws tear limbs from bodies and flesh from bones countless times. His new features were the only mystery remaining to Allen, reflections from the mirror the only enemy.

  The zombies were in charge of everything now. Allen had expected society to crumble in a matter of days; instead it had simply changed hands. The power failed; the howlers fixed it. The governments shut down the internet; the zombies turned it back on. News reports were being read by howlers, advising hungry zombies on where fresh flesh might still be found. Most of the other channels were blank screens, or screaming static; but the howlers had taken over all of the Fix Network channels. They broadcast tired retreads of tired ideas in what they thought was an inventive new way, although only ramblers and trapped humans watched most of it. The truly popular shows were “To Catch A Human” and “Zombie Night Live”. All the howlers stopped hunting and found a television every night at nine to watch them back to back.

  Allen had taken to avoiding the televisions blaring on every street like he had taken to avoiding mirrors. The scant availability of fresh meat made his hunger as easy to examine as his feelings, and he wandered empty quiet streets wishing he could be rid of both. It was a lucky thing that he happened to be near a television in the early morning hours one day, in a string of days spent wandering. It was the first human voice he had heard in a while.

  “We can’t give out our location,” the desperate voice spoke. “But we can tell folks where to go. Listen carefully, humans and ramblers and howlers alike. There is hope for us all. The American government knew about this possibility. They developed a drug that would reverse the change we have all seen in our friends and loved ones, or ourselves
. We have been manufacturing all that we can, and we’re ready to share it.”

  Allen rushed to stand before the television. It was in what used to be a shop display window. The glass had been shattered, as had the other sets on display; but a sixty inch flatscreen was still on in the showcase. There was no image, and Allen nearly caught a glimpse of his face reflected in the dark screen. He looked away, listened intently.

  “I repeat, there is no point of no return. Stop killing each other and start looking for the places we will be distributing the cure for this horrible sickness. There is great danger in exposing ourselves, but the howlers seem dormant in the early morning hours. Check this channel this time tomorrow for the first distribution point. All I can say is: get to America if you can. We don’t know when we will be able to distribute worldwide, but for now we will be somewhere in America every morning at seven. We will announce the location at five minutes till. Good luck, everyone, and have hope. And for God’s sake, stop killing each other unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Allen strode off faster than he had walked in many days. He had to find an airport.

  Chapter 19

  The captain was fairly convinced that the cruise line employees were playing an elaborate joke on him. After twenty years of service, he would have been happy with a gold watch; this all seemed like too much effort for a prank. He’d been shown news reports, then told not to talk to passengers or other crew members about it. It must have taken them days to find all the fake reports, undoubtedly from horror movies. The captain kept his cool, and played his cards close to his vest, even when the itinerary kept getting extended. He would not be laughed at, not on his own ship. Meanwhile, on the Lido Deck…

  “Look, honey,” Michael pointed. “I told you they would be sending supplies.”

  Linda looked out at the ocean. She squinted. “Is that a ship?”

  Michael nodded. “A big ship. It looks military.” He sat up straighter, peered through the wet salted glass. “Do you have the binoculars?”

  Fishing them from her purse, Linda held out the strap.

  “Thanks.” Michael put them up to his eyes. He frowned, moving slightly left then slightly right. His frown deepened. “Hmm.”

  “What?” Linda was frowning now too. “What do you see?”

  Michael shook his head, set the binoculars on the table. He took off his glasses, cleaned them thoroughly, rested them on his nose, and lifted the dual telescopes to his eyes once more.

  “Honey,” he said, suddenly very serious, “let’s go back to the cabin.”

  He stood up.

  “Michael,” she said, standing as well. “What did you see?”

  “It’s not a supply ship,” he responded. He took her hand.

  “Let me see.”

  Michael shrugged. “Don’t scream.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she responded, putting the binoculars to her eyes. She let go his hand to adjust the knob. “I’m not a screamer…”

  She trailed off, her face going white. Michael wondered if she’d seen the flag first, like he had. It was easy to tell what the picture on the flag was, for anyone who had caught a glimpse of a howler, or seen a photo. The hungry toothy face was as tall as a man, and was unmistakably inhuman. Or did she see the group of howlers standing on deck, watching the ship approach their next feast? She didn’t say, and it didn’t matter. Linda paled, stowed the field glasses in her purse and took his hand again.

  The first screams began when they stepped from the elevator. Someone else must have seen, or the ship was getting closer faster than he had thought possible. It didn’t matter; they only had one more hallway to traverse, and then they were in their cabin. Glancing back over his shoulder, Michael could see that the elevator they had just vacated was crammed with people. Rather than let the doors close and wait for another, passengers were pulling each other from the metal box. Two men stood in the entrance, struggling, while the door tried to close on them over and over. The stairs were a mass confusion of people trying to go up being shoved over backwards and trampled by people headed down.

  He lost sight of the pandemonium as they headed up the hallway. A cluster of passengers were moving their way, filling the narrow passage with their panicked flight. Michael angled himself between them and his wife as they charged. He wasn’t a big guy, but he wasn’t about to let her get trampled either.

  “Hey!” he shouted, waving his hands. They kept coming, and he pulled his arms in close to shoulder them aside as they neared. The hall was filled with the sounds of footfalls and panicked breathing. They all passed at once, slamming him into the wall a couple times but missing Linda. He watched them pounding down the hallway, shaking his head.

  “Hey!” He called out again. To his surprise, one young man stopped. He turned, shaking his head as he came out of the thoughtless daze of many minds acting as one.

  “Sorry,” the young man said, smiling weakly.

  “Where are you going?” Michael asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Michael frowned. “Why are you running?”

  He flushed, shook his head again. “I don’t know.”

  When they had begun to ration the remaining food, they had also made drinks free. Michael had questioned the wisdom of the decision; this young man had apparently taken full advantage of it. He teetered in place, his eyes rimmed in red and dulled with confusion.

  Linda tugged on Michael’s sleeve. “Sweetie.”

  He turned, and they started moving down the hallway.

  “Hey!” Michael turned back to the young man’s voice. He was still teetering precariously, but now his eyes were bright and round.

  “You’re the ‘Storm Portal’ guy!” The young man was pointing at him and grinning. “You’re Michael R. Stern!”

  “Oh, come on,” he heard Linda say behind him. “Now?”

  “Sorry, buddy,” Michael smiled. “You got the wrong guy.”

  He grabbed Linda’s hand and led her to the door. He slid the card into the slot while she laughed.

  “‘Don’t worry, honey,’” she said, mocking him. “‘Writing is a hard world to get famous in, and even famous authors seldom get recognized in public.’”

  Michael held the door open for her, and she stepped inside the room. He closed it behind him, engaging what little security the thin panel offered. Linda was already at the balcony, her hand on the slider’s handle.

  “Careful,” he called out quietly.

  She turned, looked at him. “Of what?”

  Michael watched a blur in swim trunks go past behind her. Another followed, and this one’s head thunked loudly on the railing of their balcony. The muffled thud made Linda jump, and she turned back to the glass.

  “What was that?”

  “Never mind.” Michael shook his head. “Just be careful.”

  He grabbed a deck towel from the dresser and followed her into the ocean air. He swabbed at the streak of blood while she craned her head to look up and down.

  “They’re lowering the lifeboats,” she said. “People are jumping.”

  Linda turned to him as he tossed the towel aside.

  “People are jumping,” she said again.

  Michael nodded. He pointed. “They’re getting closer.”

  They could see the flag clearly now, as could anyone on the ship. It looked more detailed up close, cartoonish and terrifying at the same time. The howler in the portrait had bloody fangs, rows of them. They could hear the monsters on deck as well. They howled their hunger, and the sound carried over the narrowing expanse of sea between the two ships. They were also leaping over the sides of their ship, and the people in the water began to turn into brief bursts of blood as they overtook them one by one. Three lifeboats were in the water between the ships, loaded with drunk and panicked passengers. Michael watched while two were boarded by swimming howlers and the other struck the prow of the zombie ship. It burst into a thousand pieces, and bodies flew in every direction; t
hen it was gone.

  “At least the captain is trying to get away,” Michael noted. The invaders had been pointed at a right angle to the ship a minute ago; now it was turning, chasing them as the ship made for the open sea.

  “From a military vessel?” Linda laughed bitterly.

  “Hey, look.” Michael moved closer to the railing. “They’re still turning. Linda, honey, it looks like they’re turning away.”

  She was nodding in disbelief. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  They watched together in silence as the ship showed them its broad side for a moment. Then it turned even more, clearly heading away from them. They sighed together. Michael put his arm around her shoulders, squinted at the other ship’s deck one last time.

  “Honey,” he breathed. “Let’s get inside.”

  “What? Why?” She followed his gaze.

  As her eyes found the submarine, it fired the first concussive round. It struck their ship a moment later, and they felt the floating city shudder. The next two rounds were accompanied by a fresh wave of screams and jumpers. The air filled with smoke as it trailed from their ship, and they felt the floor tilt under their feet as the floating vessel turned the rest of the way away from theirs. Their ears were filled with the distant sounds of tortured twisting metal, their cruise liner dipped lower in the water, and the zombie pirate ship disappeared over the horizon. The submarine dipped below the waves once more, and vanished.

  Chapter 20

  “What’s up, people. Uh…so, hey guys. This is probably the last episode of ’The Skeptic Tank’. In case you haven’t heard, things are kind of falling apart. If you aren’t somewhere safe, you should probably get there as soon as possible. Some folks reached out to me, and they sound pretty legit. I’m guess I’m going back on the road after all. Watch for my next comedy special, coming to a warm campfire gathering near you. Oh, and don’t forget; ‘Shroomfest’ is still on, July sixteenth through the eighteenth. Remember, people: setting is important. Be somewhere safe. And don’t ask your dirtiest friend for mushrooms; with running water so scarce, it’s hard to tell hippies from regular folk these days. Then again, what the hell. Ask everyone. There aren’t enough people left to pick and choose.” Meanwhile, on the other end of a download…