The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2)

by J. Steven Butler

  “Why don't you lie down there?” Haley says.

  “Do you know what you're doing?” I say.

  She squints at me. “I know more than whoever tried to seal you up with a blowtorch.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Don't worry,” she says as I lie down on the bed, my body seeming to hurt all over at once. “My full name is Doctor Haley Benson,” she says, emphasizing the word doctor. “I was chief surgeon here way back in the day before The Virus. I spent a long time in the city after that, just trying to survive like everybody else. Eventually I made my way back with Andrew and some others, and we made our own society here.”

  She pulls out a vial of some liquid and inserts a needle. I have no intention of losing consciousness in the midst of a group of strangers living all alone out here in the wild, but she quickly reassures me.

  “This is just lidocaine,” she says. “Local anesthetic so I can clean the wound and try to fix you up.” She sticks the needle into my shoulder near the entrance wound and I immediately begin to feel some relief from the gnawing pain.

  “Thank you,” I sigh.

  “You're welcome,” she says. “So who shot you?”

  I give her a questioning look.

  “Come on Cray. You think as head of surgery I've never seen a bullet wound before?”

  She works a little while on my shoulder before speaking again.

  “So scavenging, huh? Must be dangerous work.”

  “It can be,” I say warily, unsure what she's getting at. There's something doubting in her tone. “Dangerous enough to get shot.”

  She looks pointedly down at my exposed torso and I realize what she's talking about. Oh yeah. Forgot about those.

  “You've got more scars than clear skin,” she says. “It doesn't add up. You've got a bullet wound tonight, but most of your scars bear the resemblance of gashes, tears, and bites.” She emphasizes the last word.

  I don't say anything for a while and finally decide not to try to dodge the obvious.

  “Like you said, Doc, you know your wounds.”

  She doesn't say anything else for several minutes. But I thank God for some real medical treatment. Although Ming was well-intentioned, her idea of a field hospital repair job left plenty to be desired.

  When Haley speaks again, she's kind, but blunt.

  “We stay under the radar out here, Cray, but we're not criminals. We abide by the rules of the land. We try to help those in need if the opportunity arises. You don't have to tell me who you really are or what you really do, but I need to know one thing. Are we in danger by your being here?”

  I start to lie, but these people have treated us with nothing but kindness so far.

  “I don't think so. Not from us anyway,” I say, “but the sooner we can get going, the better. The last thing I want is to put you in harm's way.”

  She seems to be satisfied with that, and I figure with her, a little honesty goes a long way.

  “I need you to trust me,” she says. “I need to do some extensive work, and I want to put you out. If it would make you feel better, I'll find your friend and she can sit in.”

  I'm tempted, but I decide Ming will be keeping an eye out for me anyway, and I don't think Haley means me any harm. I surrender to my own judgment.

  “I trust you. Do what you have to.”

  Haley smiles and nods and goes to prepare whatever it is she's going to knock me out with. When she returns, she begins an intravenous line. She inserts something into the line and gives me one more smile as she leans over me.

  She says, “Don't worry. I'll take good care of you. See you soon.”

  I don't even recognize my awareness slipping away.

  Chapter 17

  I wake to the sound of Buster whining.

  I rub my sleepy eyes and lie there for a moment, trying to gain my bearings. I was sleeping hard, and the heaviness hangs on. Little by little, I come more fully awake and sit up, placing a small hand on my dog’s back.

  “What’s wrong boy?” I say. He’s usually one to sleep through the night, always in the same spot, curled against my feet. “Are you okay?”

  My lab, Cara, died a few months back, and mom got Buster for me from the pound. An imposing German shepherd, he never leaves my side.

  He whines a little louder, a plaintive sound, and for the first time I notice something else. There are sounds coming from outside of the apartment. Not the usual sounds of nighttime traffic or the hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps. Sirens sound off in the distance, and I’m starting to hear shouts and yelling as well. From somewhere nearby, someone screams a horrible, bloodcurdling scream, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. It’s a long, agonized scream, and it seems to penetrate to my bones causing me to cringe involuntarily.

  Buster is standing at the end of the bed now, his thick fur bristling along his neck and spine. I’m about to move, to get up and run to my mom’s room to find out what’s happening, when a dark shape moves into my doorway.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” I say, my voice panicked and strained.

  I can’t see her face – only her silhouette in the darkness. She doesn’t move other than to cock her head sideways. She probably doesn’t know what to make of it all either.

  I’m suddenly aware of a rumbling sound. At first I don’t know where it’s coming from, but it grows quickly louder, and I realize Buster has jumped down from the bed and stands between me and my mom. His lips roll back and his white teeth glint as the rumbling becomes a full-blown, vicious growl.

  I’m shocked and feel an instant irritation. He’s never acted that way before. “Stop it, boy!” I say. “It’s just mom. Stop it!” But he doesn’t, and even in the darkness, I can see the malevolence in his gaze. Any second he’s going to pounce on mom. I’m overcome with terror. I want to run to my mom, to stand between her and the dog, but I can’t move. I’m petrified that Buster will turn on me. He’s large, even for his breed, ninety-five pounds of muscle and strength that could do serious damage if he wanted to.

  Dad! Where’s dad? We need you! The dog’s going crazy! He’s going to hurt mom! I want to scream out for him, but I don’t want to spook Buster into attacking, so instead I speak softly.

  “Buster. It’s okay buddy. Buster?”

  Mom still hasn’t said anything or moved. She probably thinks any movement will trigger an attack. I don’t know what to do! I’m frozen with indecisiveness.

  A light comes on from somewhere behind mom and I hear dad call out for her from the living room. Her face is still in shadow, but I can see her expression now, and it’s anything but fear. Her eyes move from me to Buster and back again, her nostrils are flared, a maddened expression in her eyes. Like Buster, her lips are curled back in a snarl and her tongue darts in and out of her mouth like a snake. There’s something horrible and non-human about her appearance and I scream as she suddenly lunges for Buster.

  Their bodies collide in a flash of arms and teeth, mom roaring like an animal, Buster growling and thrashing and trying to gain purchase with his jaws. He twists and sinks his teeth into mom’s thigh, but mom raises both arms high and brings them down with incredible force onto Buster’s back. There’s a sickening crunch and Buster cries out, releasing his grip. He collapses and writhes awkwardly, still trying to get a grip with his fangs. But mom grips his head and wrenches it violently, and Buster stops moving.

  I’m still screaming, hot tears blurring my vision, as mom rises from the floor, her leg mangled and dripping blood.

  “Mommy…!” Is all I can manage to say before she leaps through the air and lands on me, shrieking like a demon. I try desperately to push her off, but she claws at my face and arms trying to pin me down.

  Mom manages to pin my hands and sinks her teeth into my left shoulder. It explodes in pain, and I feel the muscles underneath my skin tearing. I cry out in newfound agony and strain against her. From pure adrenalin, I’m able to push her up and away, her teeth still snapping madly for
me. My arms are already weakening, though, and her mouth gets closer and closer to my face. In that moment, time seems to freeze.

  I look deeply into the dark brown eyes that have always shined with pride and love for me, at the soft cheeks that have nuzzled my face when I had a bad dream, and somehow I just know. I don’t know how I know it, but the beautiful woman that had been my Mom is gone, replaced by something evil and detestable.

  Suddenly I experience a pain worse than anything that has come before, and it takes a moment for me to realize this pain isn’t physical. It’s the heart-rending realization that the person you care most about in the world is gone forever. Something inside me wants to give up, to let go and allow her to kill me, to be rid of this torment, to not have to live a life without her. And yet, there is another part of me that refuses to surrender. It’s something primal and instinctual and determined not to give in.

  But then things speed up again, and Mom is ripped away from me as my dad grabs her from behind and slings her back towards the door. She stumbles, but regains her balance and launches herself at dad, bellowing with rage. Her fingernails dig ferociously at his face as he tries to push her off of himself, and blood pours into his eyes blinding him.

  He’s pleading, begging, trying to get some intelligent response from her, but I know the truth. I slip from my bed, my shoulder aching, my face on fire from hot tears, and I grab my baseball bat from the corner. Dad can’t hold her off much longer. I step over Buster’s broken, lifeless body, steel myself, and swing the bat. It collides with my mommy’s head – once, twice, three times, until she falls limply and lies still, her shattered skull hemorrhaging blood onto the floor and onto my bare toes.

  The bat falls from my hands and a tortured sob escapes me.

  Dad sits up and wipes his eyes free of blood. He sees my mom’s battered, unmoving body. There’s a few seconds of pregnant silence, then he begins to wail. All at once, I collapse to the floor and join him, our cries joining into an eerie harmony of desolation.

  I lie in bed thinking about Mira and the current irony of my situation. If I didn't have to spend so darn much time healing, I might actually be able to accomplish something helpful.

  Ming came by earlier. Haley was with her. I was not happy when they told me how long I had been out. Actually, I was livid.

  Haley had kept me under heavy sedation for six days, and Ming had given the thumbs up for it. After I got over a heavy bout of profanity, Ming told me I could shove it. According to her, we couldn't help Mira or anybody else if I was dead and I needed time to recover. I couldn't argue with her logic. She wouldn't even know how to reach them without me. I finally, grudgingly accepted what had happened. After all, it was too late to change it. I just hoped Mira was still safe for the time being.

  After Haley checked me over and left, Ming told me all about the place and the people. Andrew, the preacher, was a country minister before The Virus. He had pastored a small congregation. He’d had and wife and kids. All of that was destroyed. Like so many others, he was moved into Chicago by the government to be kept safe.

  He'd spent several years there in mourning for his family until he decided it was time to start again on his “mission”, as he called it. He began to rebuild a small flock of believers that met in his apartment regularly. Over time, the group grew to around thirty members, including Haley. They were of the Christian faith, and decided to create their own micro-society. The hospital was actually Haley's idea. She knew it well from her days as an employee here, and they began making plans to turn at least part of it into a new home for their group.

  One of the things that made it ideal was the fact that the hospital had big ambitions for green energy back in the day. As a result, they had erected enormous solar radiation panels on various portions of the roof. They weren’t remotely enough to power the entire hospital, but it was a way to support the environmental trend of the times.

  Fortunately, one of their group was a skilled electrician, and he was able to re-route the power supply to this wing of the facility. As long as they were conservative with their usage, they pretty much had full-time power to this area.

  They had treated Ming well over the past six days, feeding her, providing a private room for sleeping. But it was her last revelation that rocked me to the core. Something Andrew had shown her the second day. Something that could change the entire playing field of the world we know.

  Chapter 18

  Ming

  On the second day of our stay, I followed Andrew down a dark hallway. He carried a bowl of food that had the smell and texture of oatmeal. All he'd told me was that there was something he wanted me to see.

  There was no power in that part of the building, but old-fashioned oil lanterns hung at periodic intervals along the route throwing flickering pools of light every thirty feet or so, broken up by roughly equal-sized patches of darkness, like sentinels of light striving to keep the encroaching shadows at bay.

  I’d been amazed at what the small flock had accomplished here. They had all of their basic needs met and seemed to be flourishing. Not only that, they actually seemed happy and I wondered if they credited their faith for that. In my world, true happiness was a rare commodity. We always lived in the shadow of the Festers, and the devastation we’d all suffered had left its mark on each one in their own way.

  Andrew was wearing overalls again. I asked him about it jokingly, if they were all he ever wore. He laughed heartily and said he used to be a farmer. His first love was pastoring his little congregation, but they were too small to support him and his family financially. His dad had been a farmer, and his dad before him. Andrew said it was “in his blood”, and if there was anything he was happy doing other than the work of God, it was growing things.

  His wife’s name had been Patricia. They had three children, all girls. Andrew alone had survived. He had a hard time with the crushing loss and had spent many years struggling to survive, working odd jobs, and isolating himself from others. I could see the pain in his eyes when he spoke of them, but he swore he’d come to terms with it. I know a thing or two about that myself.

  That's about all anyone can do who's lost someone close to them. You come to terms. The pain never goes away. It just morphs into a dull ache that can sometimes be overlooked. But at other times, it’s still raw and tender.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we continued to walk down the dark corridor. I didn’t feel any alarm from him, despite the creepy, dungeon feel of the hallway, but my curiosity was piqued.

  “We're almost there,” Andrew said. A few moments later, a lone figure came into view.

  A smallish woman that I later found out was named Angie, was sitting in a folding chair with her legs crossed in front of her. Even in the near-darkness, she looked haggard. It was apparent she was either sick, or she hadn't been sleeping well. Dark, puffy circles were under her eyes, and there was something drawn and pained about her expression.

  She looked up as we approached, and though she looked me over briefly, she showed no concern that a stranger was there. The preacher started to speak to the woman, but his words were interrupted by an ear-piercing scream, the unmistakable cry of a Fester.

  Every nerve in my body fired into readiness at the same instant. The scream was followed by rapid pounding on a door to my left, slightly muted, but repetitive.

  In a flash I had my gun out and trained on the door, waiting for the creature to come crashing through. I had a brief recollection of Cray telling me these weren't monsters, but curable people, but I dismissed it. That may have been true, but it didn't make them any less dangerous. If it came down to us or it, this Fester was going down.

  “Get behind me,” I yelled at the others. The pounding turned into terrible wails. When the preacher and the woman didn't move, I tore my eyes away from the door for a split second to see them staring calmly at me, the woman still seated, legs still crossed.

  “It's okay, miss,” she said, her voice a weak monotone. “She ca
n't get to you.”

  Andrew produced a small flashlight and flicked it on. “This is what I wanted you to see.” He made a downward gesture and waited patiently for me to lower my firearm.

  Slowly, the sounds from behind the door began to fade away to be replaced by odd guttural noises like a mewling cat. After a while, the woman in the chair nodded to him, and he walked slowly over to the door. For the first time I noticed the small square window at roughly eye level, a crisscrossed wire mesh set into it, and I finally realized what this part of the hospital had been – the mental ward.

  Shining the small light through the window, he beckoned for me to come closer. I crossed to him and peered cautiously inside, knowing now what to expect.

  Inside, the beam of light played over the padded walls of the room until it came to rest on a small Fester woman huddling in the far corner, her face turned away from us, her diseased body wracked with periodic spasms.

  Questions flooded my mind. Why were they keeping her locked up here? What were they trying to accomplish? They were treating her like a pet.

  Suddenly, the woman's face turned towards us, a venomous snarl ripping between her clenched teeth, and I gasped, taking an involuntary step backwards. I was wrong. It's wasn't a small woman as I had believed. This Fester was a child!

  Angie looked at the floor and spoke slowly, her mouth barely moving in the darkness. “She's my daughter. Her name is Kylie.”

  At first I thought it was a sick joke, but the reality began to sink in.

  “No,” I said. “No, that's not possible.”

  The Fester Virus was released eighteen years ago. You were either infected or you weren't, but it was never contagious from one person to another. Despite the infection, Festers still continued to age. That meant given the time that had passed, any children infected by the initial outbreak were either adult age now, or had died off long ago. And yet here, beyond all reason, was a small girl, no doubt about her being infected.