Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  “Confirmed.”

  “The President has declared the Order of Lazarus to be enemies of the state. Do you have the protest at the mall under observation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do we have any air assets available to respond to this?”

  Travers voice was calm as he replied, “Yes, sir. I have a flight of Apaches on stand by. They’re three minutes out.”

  “Get them there, Colonel.”

  Woods handed a piece of paper to Roman. “I’m federalizing all National Guard and calling up all the reserves. I want you to bring our troops home from Europe and the Far East as soon as possible. Close all bases. Our allies will have to stand on their own. I’m not going to allow this country to fall.”

  His hand shook as he pointed at the screen. “Not to th-these fucking things!”

  Roman took the orders and handed them to his orderly. “Get these out on all channels now.” As the Major left, Woods exclaimed, “What the hell is happening now?”

  Roman hung up and turned his attention back to the screens. The cheering throngs were jumping up and down at Lazarus every word, but the audio was gone. From the way the camera was jumping, Roman was sure the news crew was getting ready to run.

  Suddenly the audio returned. With it came screams of people and the harsh sound of a chain gun firing. The camera bounced then went up to show one of the Apaches making its run. Before it, the creatures led into the mall were simply exploding into bloody rags as the chain gun tore them to bits. The helicopters were not targeting the zombies solely. On the other side of the mall, a second Apache was firing rockets into a make shift trailer park. The trailers went up in balls of greasy smoke, small rag dolls of people flying out of the explosions.

  Abruptly the camera went back to Lazarus. He was leaning against a low-lying wall, eyes glassy, a content smile on his face. Stuttering into his megaphone he said, “You haven’t killed me… you’ve bless…” With a final rattle, he dropped the megaphone and slid down the wall, leaving a bright red stain on its white surface.

  One of his followers grabbed the megaphone and screamed into it, “Lazarus has entered paradise! Kill the unbelievers; give their flesh to the Blessed!”

  That was enough for the news crew. The camera fell to the ground, and the sound of screeching tires filled the audio. The sideways view showed armed people running around while on the far side of the mall, the Apaches still hammered at them.

  Abruptly the scene switched back to Casey Hamm. Her eyes were red and tears were streaking her cheeks. “It appears we’ve lost the picture at the Mall,” she was trying hard to keep her composure. “We’ll have more on this horrible event as soon…”

  “Mr. President!” The aide called out excited, “we’ve got Doctor Savare on the line!”

  Doctor Ignatio Savare was a brilliant man. Holding degrees in Virology, Biotechnology, and Immunology, he had been the National Security Advisor to the past three Presidents. He and Woods were friends, the man deeply trusted by the President and his staff. Savare looked tired and one arm was bandaged heavily, a discoloration clear under the gauze.

  Woods stared into the screen, “Ignatio, what happened to you?”

  “Mr. President,” Savare was rarely less than formal. “For the past weeks, my staff and I have been going over what the FBI discovered at Benton’s home. We have made important discoveries.”

  As Savare looked down at some papers, Woods was startled at just how worn the man looked. The skin on his face looked like parchment, giving him a wizened appearance. Savare took a deep breath saying, “Pardon me, Mr. President, the days have not been long enough for this task.”

  “What is it you found, Ignatio?”

  A thin smile crossed Savare’s lips. “The dead are coming back due to a virus. From information gained from the few records recovered from Benton’s office, the original virus was supposed to be a cure for acute disseminated encephalomyelitis, a disease that ruins the brain. The virus they created is highly contagious. Any exchange of fluids with one of the victims, a bite, a scratch, will transfer the infection. The success rate of the virus is one hundred percent. Anyone who is infected will die and come back.”

  “Anyone?” Said the President. “What about animals?”

  Savare took a moment to take a drink of water. “Well, there is some good news on that front. I can say with absolute authority that this virus will not jump into animal vectors. I tried to infect animals and the virus died. It did not even survive in primates. The virus has to have human brain and nerve tissue to survive. That is why, once the head is severed from the body or the brain is destroyed, the subject is dead. The virus will not survive the destruction of the brain. It feeds only within the brain or spine.”

  Woods sat back. “So if we were to destroy all the infected, say use… nuclear weapons on the major cities, or hunt down and destroy all of them, would this stop the virus?”

  Savare shook his head. “I don’t know. Some of our research is incomplete. There is a chance that it is airborne by now as well, which means as the subjects spread, they can be spreading the virus itself.”

  Woods face fell. “So we’re doomed?”

  A smile, a bit brighter, crossed Savare’s face. “No, Mr. President. Benton was not one for taking chances. The cultures the FBI discovered are a counter-virus. We have cultured it and through human testing, found that it works.”

  Roman, standing over Woods shoulder, leaned into the picture. “Doctor Savare, how do you know that this counter-virus works?”

  Even before Savare raised his bandaged arm, Woods and Roman exchanged looks. Woods voice held a tone of protestation as he said, “Ignatio! How could you test this on yourself?”

  Ignacio’s eyes were dark behind his glasses, as he replied, “Not just myself, Mr. President. My entire staff. All thirty of us were treated with it. We were going to draw straws to see who would be the test subject. In the end I chose to be bitten.”

  “GOD!”

  Savare held up his unbandaged hand and shook it. “Do not despair, Mr. President. My blood shows no signs of the virus. I have a new set of anti-bodies, so I cannot be infected. We are producing more samples of the counter-virus as we speak.”

  “I think,” said General Roman, “that there is more to this, Doctor.”

  “There is.” Savare stared into the camera, his dark eyes holding their attention. “The virus doesn’t work on everyone. Of my staff, roughly eleven percent did not develop the anti-bodies. They can still be infected. Another four percent had an allergic reaction and died rather badly. They did revive and had to be destroyed.”

  “Doctor,” asked Roman. “Will this counter-virus work on the revived?”

  “No,” Savare replied without hesitation. “The counter-virus requires a living host. The dead have no functional circulatory system. The counter-virus has no way to travel through the body, scavenging out CR-IV. The only way to stop the revived is to destroy them.”

  There were a few moments of silence before Woods said, “I want the military and police to be the first to get the anti-virus, Doctor. Get it out to them as soon as you can. Keep me apprised of any further developments.”

  “I will, Mr. President.”

  Before the President could speak, a Marine Lieutenant, dressed in full combat gear entered his office. “Mr. President, we’re ready to secure the White House. Marine One is waiting for you.”

  Woods rose to his feet. “I need fifteen minutes Lieutenant; do we have that much time?”

  The Lieutenant spoke quietly into his comm unit. “Not much more than that, Mr. President. That disturbance at the Mall is heading this way. Troops are fighting a delaying action, but those Lazarite people are leading those things this way.”

  Woods nodded and turned to General Roman. “General, secure the building. We’re going to relocate the government to Camp David. I want all major infection points quarantined.”

  Roman raised a brow. “Mr. President, you are aware that thes
e creatures are gravitating toward urban centers. It appears they know where their… food supply is. Perhaps it would be better to let them infest the cities and then cut them off.”

  Woods shook his head. “No we can’t do that. I want whatever forces we can assign to the cities to try to hold on for as long as they can. Give people a chance to escape. Whatever those lists you were talking about for the Enclaves, get them into operation.”

  Roman looked troubled. “You realize, Mr. President that we’re going to lose loyal men and women trying to hold those quarantine zones while we’re filling the Enclaves?”

  Woods face was hard as he replied, “You said it yourself, General. This is a war and in war, difficult decisions have to be made. I’ll meet you on Marine One.”

  As the President and his secret service detachment left the room, men came in and began pulling down metal shutters (put in for protection against bombs back in 2013, after a radical got a little too close with a hand grenade) and locking them into place. Glancing around the Oval Office, Roman sat at a computer terminal and quickly began typing…

  The President glanced out of the window of Marine One. An upgraded Blackhawk II, the chopper was hardened against small arms fire and had an auxiliary engine, which, in case the main engine went would allow it to land safely. Glancing at the troops huddled behind their defenses; Woods heart went out to them. What made him so valuable? Behind sand bags, armed men and women waited for the onslaught. Just inside the gates sat two Bradley II IFV’s, their chain guns pointed down Pennsylvania Avenue. Suddenly one opened up, a foot long streak of flame erupting from the barrel. Even over the rumbling of the chopper’s engine, Woods could hear the sound of the chain gun firing. From the various redoubts set up around the White House, the soldiers manning them also opened fire. At first sporadic, the firing suddenly escalated into a roaring crescendo.

  Out of breath, General Roman leapt into the chopper and began strapping in, shouting, “Get us airborne!” The Co-Pilot gave a thumbs-up and the chopper began to rise. As it cleared the roof of the White House, Woods could see the mass of creatures approaching his former home.

  “General, do those men and woman have any escape route?”

  Roman nodded. “The Navy has landing craft at the Potomac. They’re being guarded by attack choppers.”

  Woods nodded. “Tell them as soon as we’re away to escape. I won’t throw lives away over a building.”

  Roman, putting on a headset, nodded and began giving orders. Beneath them, the Bradleys were firing right into the mass of attackers. Creatures and Lazarites disappeared before the shells, blasted to bits by high explosive rounds. Woods wanted to watch longer, but the choppers engine roared and Marine One pulled up and away.

  Mixed in with the creatures, Lazarites, some of them former military, watched as the President attempted to get away. At a signal, several of them raised and aimed Stinger missiles.

  With a sigh, Woods sat back in his seat, glad his wife died of cancer two years ago. If that had not killed her, this disaster certainly would have. Emma had been a vivacious woman, a classy first lady and he missed her greatly. Woods was turning to speak with Roman when a beeping from the cockpit caught the Generals attention. Unbuckling his safety straps, Roman got to his feet and lurched toward the front of the bird. He was halfway there when the first missile hit, damaging the engine. The chopper was starting to spin uncontrollably when a second slammed into it, just above the fuel tanks. Marine One exploded in a bright cloud of orange flame, the remnants smashing down into the dark waters of the Potomac, killing everyone onboard.

  Chapter 7 – Delaying Actions

  04 February 2032

  Verrazano Bridge

  Brooklyn Side

  “You can’t blow the bridge!” The man, disheveled, bleeding from some minor scratches, was pawing at Colonel Raymond Diggs. Diggs, a large black man who’d played defensive end for West Point, put a hand on his pistol and stared at his adjutant. “How did this civilian get in here? Is he infected?”

  Captain Gregg Leonard grabbed the man and propelled him toward two armed and armored MPs. Only an idiot or someone with a death wish didn’t wear body armor these days. The men started dragging the civilian away toward the evac center. The man broke free, screaming, “I’m not leaving my family!” With long paces, he ran towards where, in the past, tollbooths once stood. Now replaced by a haphazard maze of sandbags and barbed wire, beyond which was a no man’s land of shattered and burned vehicles and … them.

  One of the MPs raised his M11 and aimed, the other pulled the weapon down. “Why bother? He wants to die, let him.”

  The first MP shrugged and watched as the man ran past the toll booths toward the barbed wire. The paths that once allowed lines of automobiles and trucks through were empty. Staten Island was being abandoned, the numbers of dead beyond control. There wasn’t anyone else coming out. Only the dead were there, waiting to enforce their vile lusts on anyone foolish enough not to run.

  Some soldiers huddled behind a machine gun were exchanging bets on how far the guy would get. Already the enemy was staggering into the maze. The creature’s mobility depended on how they died, or how long they were fed upon by others, before reviving. Some could manage the maze, others stood there the wire trapping and stopping them. It bit into them, slicing them, taking out chunks of their pallid flesh. No longer capable of feeling any physical pain, they just kept walking toward the soldiers who were holding the bridge. None of the soldiers had any illusions as to what their fate would be if caught by the creatures. Many carried an extra weapon, set aside just for that eventuality. Some a pistol, others a grenade, one guy had a satchel charge so that he wouldn’t feel anything and could take as many of the enemy with him as possible.

  For their enemy wasn’t human, they were inhuman. They were the horribly resurrected bodies of the dead, back with one grim purpose; to devour any human being they could catch. Hundreds of thousands of people were killed and eaten in the past year. Many of the major cities of the world were battle zones, no quarter asked or given. The Enclaves, even those that were half completed, were being filled from lists, evacuation plans developed, but the relentless living dead, always present, interfered more often than not with these plans. As a famous general said, “no plan survives contact with the enemy.”

  The man stopped before the barbed wire. Standing, swaying with weariness, he stared across the coils of wire and sandbags then threw his hands to his face. There before him, staggering in line with the zombies were his wife and daughter. He could feel bitter bile climb up his throat as they approached. Melanie, his wife had been ravaged by teeth before reanimating. The right side of her once lovely face was bone, the flesh peeled off. Only one of her eyes, once so green, remained; now clouded over staring out of a circle of pink tinged bone. She had been caught trying to get back to the car when her husband ran. Her right arm was gone, only pieces of bone hanging from the shoulder socket, one of her breasts hung sagging and deflated the meat behind it torn away. Next to her staggered Denise, their daughter. The child had a huge hollow in her stomach, showing where the zombies feasted; the left side of her face was dotted with teeth marks.

  Arnold Richards, one time accountant, fell to his knees sobbing. Throwing back his head, he howled like a wounded animal. “Please kill me! Oh God! Kill me!” As he started his litany again, the back of his head exploded in a pink and grey cloud. The heavy caliber bullet tore through the front of his face, destroying it, pitching him forward into the barbed wire.

  Back near the machine gun pit, Sergeant Andy Cappoletti lowered his sniper rifle and spit. “You fucks make me sick. That could have been one of you out there, scumbags.” Without a further word, he stalked toward one of the trucks, back turned on his fellow soldiers, who suddenly felt like shit.

  Out in no man's land the zombies had reached Richards corpse. With the group were his wife and child. They dined on his remains as greedily as the others did.

  04 February 2032 />
  Command Post

  Verrazano Bridge

  Brooklyn Side

  Diggs stalked away from the gruesome site, barely blinking. He’d seen much, much worse since the dead rose. Babies were eaten alive by parents. Parents devoured by their children. People slaughtered one another over a chance to be evacuated. The inner cities were a total nightmare, parts of them barricaded just to keep the zombies in. Now this bridge, a great symbol of Mankind’s triumph over nature, was about to be blocked off so no more zombies from Staten Island could enter Brooklyn. The command vehicle, an M-113, armored personnel carrier, bristling with antenna, guarded by Special Forces troops loomed before him. Diggs sighed as he entered it. Sitting at the console, directing radio traffic was Captain Sheryl Miklos, graduate of West Point and even more hard assed than Diggs. She likely would have been a general one day; she was that good a soldier. Average looking until she smiled (which was rare) Diggs would rather lose his right arm than lose her.

  “What’s the word, Colonel?” Her voice was deeper than the average woman’s and pleasing to hear. She’d been part of the chorus at the Point and been offered money to record. She’d done a few singles seeing that half her proceeds went to the Disabled American Veterans. With some others, Diggs would have known it was just a kiss ass gesture to get ahead, but not Miklos. She was a rarity in this world, a truly good person.

  “We’re going to blow it. Sound the recall. I want everyone behind the line ASAP!”

  Outside a siren howled. The dead, behind the layers of barbed wire and sandbags, snapped their heads in the direction of the sound. Their sight may have been for shit, but they had acute hearing. As one, they surged against the concertina wire, the sharp edges tearing their flesh to pieces. All they knew was that food lay beyond this barrier and they wanted it.

  Diggs stood outside the APC, watching as the various vehicles and men came back behind the hastily painted red line. That line was the safe zone; anything beyond it might go down when the bridge did.