Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  Chapter 10 - School Daze

  Enclave 13 Work Area

  22 April 2032

  Enclave 13

  While the Enclaves were as zombie-proof as the engineers could make them, they weren't proof against death. When a person died, or was near death, they were euthanized and then quickly beheaded. The corpse was then cremated and the ashes dumped away from the Enclave. However, accidental deaths were still a possibility. The Enclaves were following what started with the Navy. Each person on board ship was ‘chipped’ with a life monitor set into their bodies. At the Enclaves conversion was slow going, the military members being first to be chipped. To assist in keeping watch within the bastions, musters of all personnel (there were no slackers in an Enclave, everyone contributed or was put out) usually caught any problems. When a person didn't report to a muster, a three man combat team was dispatched while a general lockdown went into effect. The zombie, if the person had become one of the undead, was quickly dispatched and life went back to normal. However, there was always an exception to every rule.

  The corpse had been Peter Unger, a bricklayer. While shoring up a wall in preparation for a new storage bin, he had slipped in wet mortar and fallen off a sixteen-foot wall. While this kind of fall wasn't usually fatal, Unger had fallen backwards, landed crossways on several different piles of bricks, broken one arm, and several ribs. While his helmet protected his skull, one of the ribs snapped and pierced his heart. Within seconds, lungs filling with blood, he suffocated and died.

  For the hour, his body was undisturbed, long enough for Unger's partner Joanne Capers to return from her break, Unger had been blissfully dead. By then the virus that was reactivating the dead had done its work

  Unger awoke, what was left of his mind filled with nothing but a ravenous hunger. A voice caught his attention. Jerkily he rose to his feet, slipped and fell down away from the pile of bricks that had killed him. It would take a few seconds for the impulses from his half-alive brain to reach his extremities. This would be long enough for Capers to make the last mistake of her life.

  Capers came around the wall wondering if Unger was thinking about the offer she had made. Capers wasn't the best looking forty year old in the Enclave, but she knew which side of her bread the butter went on. Women who chose to bear children got a year off from work and more rations. She wasn't thrilled with carrying around a parasite for nine months, but six months after that the child went into a crèche and she was free to go back to work. Sounded like a plan to her.

  "Pete?" Capers looked around then went to where the bricks were stored. Sure enough, there he was, napping. "Hey dick head!" She scolded. "You know the rules about sleeping on the job!" The truth was they could probably screw on the job and the boss of their shift, a fat bastard named Lew Frisch, wouldn't care. Hell, he'd probably take pictures to sell!

  Capers moved over Unger’s body and stood with a leg on each side of his head. It was dark in the corner, the work lights barely casting a glow. Taking off her tool belt and dropping it aside, she tossed her helmet down. Beneath her, Unger grunted and moaned. "That's it baby," she cooed. "Come to momma, I've got something nice for you."

  Knocking aside his helmet, she grabbed Unger’s thick hair in both hands, pulled his face into her crotch, and rubbed against him. Capers could feel heat rising inside as his hands went up the back of her legs and grabbed her buttocks. She squealed as his fingers dug into her and then moaned as his hands squeezed tighter. "Hey, lemme loosen my pants . . ." She started to say then jumped as Unger bit through her jeans and into her vagina. Pulling his head back, he ripped out a chunk of cloth and flesh.

  The pain was so intense, Capers couldn't even scream as she felt warm blood flow out of the wound and down her legs. Trying to pull away, she arched her back, which pressed her crotch deeper into the zombie’s face. Unger didn't need an invitation. He dug in - literally. His next bite tore deeper into Capers groin, breaking more blood vessels and veins. With desperate fury, she pulled away. Breaking his grip, she stumbled over his feet, fell backwards onto another pile of bricks, and, mercifully, shattered her skull.

  Capers died instantly, which saved her from the pain she would have felt as Unger began pulling out her intestines. Capers, with several shards of bone deep in her brain, wouldn't return, but Unger wasn’t leaving much to reanimate.

  That had been five hours ago. Since the pair of them had not logged an overtime request, just chosen to do it, Frisch would not report them missing. Now what had been Unger, guided by whatever memory he could access, had wandered into the living quarters in search of more food.

  Chung, headed for a mission briefing, was yawning when he heard the screams. At first, he was inclined to ignore them. His quarters were near a kindergarten and the kids got somewhat rambunctious at times. He started down the corridor and stopped. These screams were different. These were screams of fear, not joy. Unholstering his shotgun, he slapped the red alert alarm and ran down the corridor.

  In his quarters, Taylor, getting ready for the same briefing, heard the alarm and in seconds was armored up and out the door. Ratcheting a round into his shotgun, he glanced at the illuminated danger map located in every corridor. The warning lights were five corridors over. That would be near Chung! Shit! Taylor tore off, followed by half a dozen off duty soldiers.

  Chung entered the kindergarten cautiously. Bloody footprints led to the door, which opened, ala Star Trek, via an electric eye. Glancing through one of the half corridor high windows, Chung saw that the kids were all in one corner, throwing toys at a shambling figure in work clothes. Chung was proud of them. The children of a half-dead world grew up quick, leaving sentimentality behind.

  The body of one child was grasped in one of the zombie’s hands, half its face bitten away. Chung did not hesitate. Shoving the half-glass door open, he tore into the room.

  The zombie, intent on the kids, did not turn. Already the child in his hand was squirming, the germ reactivating it. Chung couldn't fire. All he had were magnum loads. One of those would cut through the zombie and perhaps hit the kids. Holding his shotgun in one hand, he grabbed a chair and slammed it into the side of Unger's head. Made of light plastic, the chair bounced off the zombie’s head, but it succeeded in turning him around. Chung grinned. His lack of fear of zombies was legendary. Once, during an evacuation of a school, he had stood his ground in a gateway, gunning down zombies with both hands, firing pistols while a woman in a wheelchair was reloading, until the barrels were white. When the pistols failed, he’d used a razor sharp entrenching tool. The dead themselves made a wall as he chopped their skulls open. Chung just refused to give into fear. His hatred of the living dead far outweighed any fear he would ever feel. He never spoke of where this hate came from, but some members of the Enclave thought he’d lost someone near and dear. Only Taylor knew how close to the truth that rumor was.

  Putting the shotgun under the zombie’s chin as it reached out, he said, "So long, meat." The cowering children screamed as the shotgun sent a load up through the zombie’s chin and decorated their ceiling with a Rorschach blot of pink, grey, and white. Like a tree falling, Unger toppled over, his death grip on the dead child loosened. "Close your eyes, kids!" Chung shouted before bringing the barrel of his weapon down on the zombie-child’s skull. With a crash like shattering china, the kid’s head imploded under the impact. Brains, blood, and bone splattered over Chung's hand and his weapon, but both zombies were dead again.

  Never’s face was spotted with red and when he spoke, spittle spread across Frisch's corpulent face and glasses. "What the fuck happened here?" Before Frisch could open his mouth to protest, Nevers grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked the fat man out of his chair, half-dragging him across the conference room table.

  "I asked you a question, fat man!" Nevers let the foreman go and sat back down. Taylor, to his left, watched Frisch breath like a fish out of water, his thick rubbery lips opening and closing with the effort. Looking at the three armored and ar
med guards, Nevers said, "Has the entire Enclave been checked?"

  Zevon, newly made sergeant and a man Taylor would have liked on his team, but hadn’t been able to pry him loose from security, nodded. "Yes. Unger was the only one. His partner was mostly eaten, but her skull was busted in. Looks like she tried to get away and fell." Zevon spoke in a calm even voice. "Looks like Unger started with her snatch and moved up and in from there."

  Nevers rubbed his face. "Sonuvabitch! Don't you fucking people," he jabbed a finger at Frisch, who jumped. "Fucking understand that we hold fucking musters and have reports of where people are to stop shit like this? Do you want to see the fucking zombies win?"

  Frisch could only shake his head. He knew where this was leading. If he were lucky, he would be busted down to common worker. If he weren't it could mean execution. Knowing Nevers as he did (which was mostly by rumor) Frisch could imagine his death would not be a pleasant one. Most likely, Frisch thought, it would be a bullet through the brain. Quick and simple; it would then be followed by cremation. Frisch knew there was trouble when five guards had entered his quarters, tore his clothes off, and did a complete search. They had even looked between the cheeks of his fat ass. Since he had failed to know where his people were, it was instantly assumed that he was a Lazarite. Luckily, for him, tattoos weren't his thing. He preferred to watch. Had he sported a tattoo, he might have been shot on the spot.

  Nevers sighed. "Get this fat fuck out of my sight. He's confined to his quarters until the Governor decides what to do." The guards hustled Frisch, who was so glad not to be shot right there, that he didn't even protest, out.

  Nevers turned his unhappy glance to Taylor and Chung. “You two, in my office in one hour. We have a briefing for tomorrow’s mission.”

  23 April 2032

  Enclave 13

  The Border of New York and Pennsylvania

  Taylor stared out at the helicopters waiting on the pad. Three H-60F Blackhawks, the venerable birds had been in service for decades. With the rise of the dead, they were likely to be around a long time, along with their older cousin, the Huey. Taylor gave himself a quick pat down, making sure he had all his gear and armor in place. Always paid to make sure before one left, rather than needing something when in the middle of a fur-ball, and where he and his unit, the BodySnatchers were going, the chance of getting into the shit were more than probable. With this, the second mission in a month, he had to stay on top of things, make sure he and his people were ready.

  Nodding to his men, all heavily armed and armored, they climbed aboard the chopper and took their seats. With a deafening roar of engines, the birds lifted. Taylor looked down at the dark walls of Enclave 13, wondering if he and his men would see it again.

  Enclave 13 was one of the few Enclaves to be located above ground. Built quickly while humanity was attempting to hold off the rise of the dead, what was above ground was a rectangle the size of six football fields. The walls were twelve feet thick at the base, narrowing to five at the top. Contained within was the airfield, which held helicopters and the last new VTOL the U.S. Air Force had ever ordered, the Peregrine, an updated version of the old Harrier jump jet. That venerable old bird still served alongside the plane that was to replace it.

  Most of the civilians and military who inhabited the Enclave (one of sixty-one spread across the United States) lived underground. While some existed before the disaster, some were built quickly, with the goal of saving some part of humanity from the living dead and their Lazarite allies. With the power grid of the country long off line, and few, if any lights shining out from the Enclave walls (other than spotlights to make sure no enemies were creeping up), the sight was quickly lost to view.

  Turning his attention back to the inside of the helicopter, Taylor rubbed the scar that stuck out from under his eye patch. He'd lost his left eye, (why do we say we've 'lost' things that are gone forever? He thought irritably) on a rescue mission similar to the one they were about to undertake. He wished the Enclave could spare enough choppers to just go in, get the people and get out; but that wasn’t always possible. Choppers were valuable. If these people were scientists, doctors, or technicians, the mission’s primary purpose would be assessed differently. As long as there was the chance this was a trap, a chopper would drop them off and then it was up to the team. If they succeeded in reaching the people and they were legit, the choppers would be called back, the rescue carried out. If it were a Lazarite trap, the team would attempt to disengage without engaging or altering their enemy. This way valuable, and in some ways irreplaceable commodities would not be risked. Anyone could get on a radio and scream for help. It wasn’t unusual, even now after most cities of any size were abandoned to hear from survivors. Survival was burned into human DNA. The entire history of the species was proof of that.

  In the early days of the war, when the numbers of the enemy were still growing, some evacs were easy. The people who were supposed to go to the Enclaves were on carefully preselected lists. These lists were prepared, ostensibly as part of a nuclear war scenario. Run by FEMA, the lists were up-dated, changing every year. Once these people (considered essential by whoever in the government was in charge of creating the list) were in the Enclaves, then the Government authorized rescuing those who were still on the outside. Things had taken a Darwinian turn though; people whose survival benefited the future of humanity were on the lists; those who were healthy and didn’t need exotic medications to survive were in, the rest weren’t. The world had become dog eat dog on an unprecedented scale, with little time for compassion or pity for the weak. There were times when Taylor wondered what Darwin would have thought of this.

  It wasn’t known how many people were still surviving outside of the Enclaves. Estimates on survivors varied and as anyone knew, estimates were like assholes; everybody had one.

  Taylor enlisted in the army since 2016. He’d been in several Middle-Eastern interventions. He’d known since serving in his first ‘intervention’ that the area was a shit hole, a morass that would suck the vitality out of the United States. Another fucking Viet Nam was what men senior to him called it. When he left the Mid, he couldn’t be happier to go.

  His Gulf days were B.G., Before the Zombies. Back when the only thing average people worried about were taxes, how the Government would fuck up next and how they would die.

  In the early days of the rising, survival outside of the cities was easier. Small towns could be barricaded, the dead held off. Outside of the large urban areas, the dead were more spread out, easier to hunt down and destroy. The problem was they didn’t stay outside the urban areas, but swarmed towards them. It was as if they knew where the greatest concentration of their food was.

  The armies of the undead grew faster than imaginable, preying on everyone and anyone. Interestingly enough, zombies did not eat animals. There were photos of the creatures walking through herds of cows and across abandoned farms, ignoring the bounties there. Zoos and pet stores became charnel houses as the owners and keepers were driven off or slaughtered. Many of the escaped animals became feral. In some parts of abandoned areas the animals ruled.

  The Enclaves kept dogs and cats, ostensibly for pest control, but the truth was; humans wouldn’t easily give up their ancient partnership with these two species. These were the only two domesticated creatures inside an Enclave. All animals other than those used for food were on their own. Taylor smiled at this thought. Many species that were on the outs would have the chance to regenerate, to build up their failing numbers. This was the only good side effect of the rising. Zombies had no interest in anything else that walked. The only thing they were after was warm human flesh.

  Taylor shook his head as he thought of some of the crazy things they’d done together. He’d still like to know what moron came up with the idea of head collection. Smart people didn't care what happened to the dead. Smart people would walk over the rekilled corpses of their own mothers to survive. Some people weren’t smart; they claimed this was the long a
waited resurrection. Many of these were filling zombie’s bellies, were zombies themselves or, worst of all, Lazarites. After all, the revived were dead. They didn’t remember their pasts, had no intelligence of note. They were just tottering bags of flesh-filled flesh that occasionally rotted and burst. Being around a zombie that burst was a nasty experience. The creature would tremble as the gasses within, unable to be released (zombies didn’t fart or belch) reached a terminal point. Chung had once been on the receiving end of a zombie ‘bath’ when one exploded. Bits and pieces of an exploded zombie could travel forty feet and better.

  Taylor was glad to see that people got the chance to survive. To him, the dead were just walking targets. They stood between him and safety. Besides, that was no way to go through life. Staggering around undead, looking for your next meal. Destroying them was a mercy.

  Taylor pulled out the piece of flimsy that Captain James 'Blackjack' Nevers gave him just as they prepared to leave on the mission. Nevers got his nickname from the early days when he was part of a specimen collection unit. Scientists were frantically trying to find a cure to whatever was bringing the dead back. To do this, zombies had to be captured alive. Nevers discovered that fresh zombies could be stunned if rapped on the head, so he started using a handmade blackjack. Taylor had to grin at that. The man was an artist with the weapon. Maybe he could be talked into going out one more time? Nevers was too important to 13, the governor would never let him out. No, his field days were over.

  Taylor stared at the flimsy sheet. He was supposed to read it and pass it around. Well, orders were orders.

  TO: ALL UNITS/ENCLAVES/SEA DETACHMENTS

  FROM: ENCLAVE COMMAND/FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

  SUBJ: ENEMY DESIGNATIONS

  GHOUL: FRESHLY DEAD. ALL LIMBS, SOME SENSORY ORGANS INTACT. SINGLY, NOT THAT DANGEROUS; STILL LOOK HUMAN ENOUGH TO PASS. DANGEROUS TO UNARMED PERSONNEL IN GROUPS OF THREE AND UP. PREFERRED METHOD OF DISPOSAL - DESTRUCTION OF BRAIN OR MASS BURNING.