Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  “Just do it Rizzo!"

  Chung and Huston knew something was wrong before they entered the room. Stopping outside the door, they peered at the floor. A dried brownish crust had seeped out from under it. Glancing at each other for a moment, Chung put a beefy shoulder to the door and, cracking the cheap lock out of the jamb, smashed it open. What they saw was. . .

  . . .horror.

  Once a restroom, now it was an abattoir. Two corpses, from their size children, headless and gutted were hanging from toilet stalls whose doors were gone. Each of the sinks was filled with various human viscera. Worst of all was the pile of heads that lay in the corner. All the eyes were open and moving. Briefly, they thought of the old days, when head hunting was part of the search and destroy missions. Neither man missed those days. As they moved around the large desk that was used for a butcher’s block, the mouths opened and shut. Some of the heads had maggots in them, the small creatures feasting on the dead flesh.

  Most of the heads were of children. The youngest couldn’t have been more than five, the oldest in its teens. Houston peered into the corner. Piled there was torn clothing, among the pile an adults suit.

  Huston moved over to a window and peeked out. Here the fence was only a meter from the school, but a moat that let the basement windows get natural light made a jump or climb (fortunately the zombies could do neither) difficult. At the base of the fence, the dead stood five deep.

  The fence and ground around it was stained with dried blood. Bits of flesh and intestines that the zombies couldn’t reach further decorated the iron spikes. The zombies stood there unmoving, staring up. Why should they move? Thanks to this bastard, they were getting regular meals.

  Chung made a motion and he and Huston backed out of the room.

  Taylor was kneeling by their captive.

  "Come on buddy, we've come to rescue you. Talk to us."

  The man only glared, making Taylor sure that he was not the one who called for help. Rising, Taylor looked at Rizzo.

  "Go see if those kids are dressed yet."

  As Rizzo left, Chung and Huston came back down the hallway. Taylor knew from their faces that there was trouble. Both men looked a little green, and Chung’s face had a dangerous look on it.

  "Well?" He demanded.

  It only took a few moments for them to complete their story.

  Before anyone could stop him, Spiros slammed a booted foot into the older man’s side. Now he made a sound. He screamed loudly as several ribs snapped.

  It was then that Rizzo brought the two teens out. The girl looked away from the groaning prisoner. The boy came closer, knelt, and said, "I'll bet that hurts, you old fucker."

  "Soon you'll all be fed to the Blessed!" He screamed again as Spiros slammed a foot into his already broken side.

  Taylor grabbed the kid by the shoulder, placed his shotgun against his neck. "Start talking and be convincing or I’ll blow all your fucking heads off!"

  The kid stared a moment, the defiance in his eyes melting, then started to talk.

  "This place has been a safe house for people for a while. Mr. Flanagan, he ran the half way house most of us were in, got us here. It was cool for a while. Those things couldn't get in, but we couldn't get out. We had food and a furnace, so we had heat. I-I'm Tim Osbourne, my girls Nancy Stafford. I used to take turns on the radio with Mr. Flanagan, Miss Frances and this guy, calls himself Creed. The younger kids called him noodle. He claims Mr. Flanagan died in his sleep but we think he killed him. He locked Miss Frances up. He was the only one with a gun; he already killed most of the younger kids, fed em to those things. He keeps us all locked up in different parts of the school. We never knew when our turn would come…" Tim started to cry.

  Spiros put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. "It's alright Tim. You’re safe now. We're from an Enclave."

  Tim’s eyes opened wide. “The radio message got through? I can’t believe it!” Tim made a motion with his head toward Creed. “No one thought it worked, that’s why, even after Mr. Flanagan died, he let us use it.”

  Spiros grinned mirthlessly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. We’ll be…”

  "Dying!" cackled Creed. "You're all dead, you just don't know it!"

  In a rare display of personal anger, Taylor yanked the man to his feet and slammed a fist into his face. Noodles head snapped back blood pouring out of a broken nose and split lip.

  "You shut the fuck up. How many more are here?"

  Tim thought a moment, "Fifteen."

  Carter did some quick mental figures. "Two Blackhawks would do it. But they'd better come in with fire support."

  Taylor nodded. "Yeah, but first things first. Spiros, take care of Noodle. See if you can get any info out of him. Carter you go with him. Tim, are there any zombies in here?"

  Tim shook his head. "No sir. But he always threatened to let them in."

  Rizzo pointed at Nancy. "Why doesn't she talk?"

  "Nancy saw her whole family slaughtered. For a while all she did was draw pictures of a red diamond.” Chung and Spiros exchanged glances; they knew what a red diamond symbolized.

  Taylor looked at Spiros who pulled Noodle to his feet and began dragging him toward the abattoir.

  “Wait,” said Tim. “He has the keys.”

  Taylor patted Noodle down roughly, adding a few more bruises to his boney frame before finding the keys. Pulling them from a pocket, he tossed them to Spiros.

  As the C/I and Carter left, Taylor said, "Tim, go with Rizzo and Young, bring Miss Frances here. Nancy stays with us until you get back."

  Tim looked as if he were going to argue, then took a good look at the hard faces of the men standing around. With barely a glance, he headed for the stairs. As Rizzo followed him out, Chung called out, “keep your eyes open, Rizzo!”

  Spiros swept the butcher tools off the desk and threw Noodle down on it. With a passing glance at the open eyes of the heads, he drew his knife. As he did, Creed suddenly snapped his forehead into Spiros face. Spiros fell back, arms pin wheeling as he slipped in some congealed blood. As Creed came off the block, bound hands fumbling for one of the knives, Carter moved in and butt-stroked the man with his stock. Creeds eyes rolled back and he staggered back into the table he’d used for a butchers block. It fell over with a crashing sound. Spiros cursed as he regained his footing. Creed spat blood at Carter and lunged toward the still slightly dazed Spiros. This was enough for Carter, yelling unintelligibly, he leveled his weapon and fired. Three shots, deafening in the closeness of the bathroom, smacked in and through Creed. With a scream Creed fell back, the windows behind him shattering as the bullets passed through. Face contorted with pain, Creeds head snapped back as he screamed, hands covering the wound in his stomach, black blood flowing out of his midriff. Shaking his head, Spiros grabbed the man by the throat and bashed his head off the wall. Shoving the wounded Lazarite back towards the only unbroken window, he glanced down and saw a diamond crudely tattooed on the man’s stomach. With a grimace of distaste, Spiros pushed him back and out the window.

  There was an odd light in Creeds eyes as he went out and over the ledge. As he fell away he shouted, "Do you think I fear death?"

  Creed let out an eerie laugh as he disappeared. The laugh ended in a loud thump. For a second there was silence then a high keening laugh split the air. Spiros peered out the widow. Creed had landed on the fence. Upper torso pierced by two spikes, he kicked his legs feebly, laughing all the while. As his blood ran down the fence, one of the zombies reached up and grasped a leg. While the zombie struggled to tear off the meat, others grabbed his other leg and began a mad game of tug of war.

  Creed shouted out, “I am going to heaven! To Heaven!”

  Within moments, a hundred hands were at the man, pulling and rending his body. As tissues tore and ripped, he stopped screaming. In less than five minutes, he was gone, pulled apart, devoured by the zombies.

  Carter stopped watching after a few seconds, but Spiros watched it all.


  “What the fucks happening there?” Taylor’s voice in his headset made Carter jump. “We had a little problem with Creed, Sarge. But it’s ok now.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Creed tried to take us with him, but his plan didn’t quite work out.”

  “All right, make sure that room gets sealed off.”

  “Roger that.”

  Spiros turned away from the gruesome sight. He’d seen others torn apart and devoured, but none had welcomed it like this man. The Lazarites might be able to walk among the zombies, but once they bled, they were on the creatures menu.

  Quickly they tossed the heads out of the shattered window, neither wanting to be in that room another moment.

  23 April 2032

  Brooklyn, New York

  P.S. 333

  Taylor stood in the room Creed had taken for his own. He glanced at the crudely printed, battered pamphlets lying about. They were filled with bullshit like 'God's Blessed Among Us' and 'Partake of the Lord's Gift of Flesh'. With a disinterested look, he dropped them on the floor. What concerned him was whether or not Creed been talking to other Lazarites on the radio? Could that have been one of the reasons he allowed the kids to use it? It was rare for those fanatics to use radios. Enclaves kept a close watch on frequencies, better to blast any unauthorized users out of existence. In the early days of the Rise, many survivors were lured to their deaths by Lazarite run radios. Letting the kids use it could bring a rescue team in, perfect set up for an ambush. It wasn’t unheard of for Lazarites to take a chance with a radio, but it was becoming a rare occurrence. Taylor, wondering if there could be other Lazarites in the school, decided it had to be searched, now. Better safe than eaten was the best motto these days. In teams of two the school was searched, the rooms not being used locked down.

  Even with the building declared clear, Taylor did not relax. There was something more to this. The kids had mentioned ‘Miss Frances’. It was time to talk to her.

  Taylor stared hard at Miss Frances. Even under the heavy clothing she wore, Taylor could see curves. Her hair was bobbed to just below her ears, her complexion clear. She was quite attractive. Oddly enough, Taylor had a funny feeling about her.

  “How did you get in here?” Taylor asked.

  Miss Frances licked her lips. “I was with a friend; we missed out on the evacuation because his mother was sick. This was the closest safe place. Mr. Flanagan let us in.”

  Taylor nodded slightly. “What happened to your friend?”

  Frances eyes narrowed. “He got killed! What the hell do you think happened?”

  From out in the corridor, Chung poked his head in. “Everything ok in here?” Frances didn’t notice, but Taylor did. Chung had his weapon casually pointed in her direction. If she were to try anything, it would be the last thing she did.

  Taylor’s face was ice. “How did he get killed?”

  Frances sighed deeply and looked down at her shoes. “We had an old car, a junker. It got us close enough to the gates. Mr. Flanagan saw us, had the children make noise, draw the… the creatures away from the gate. I got through, Eddie… my friend, didn’t make it before the zombies saw us. They…”

  Taylor held up hand. “I know what they did to him. I’ve seen it before. So what happened then?”

  “Creed showed up. Mr. Flanagan… I never found out his first name. Isn’t that odd? The man saved my life, and I don’t know his first name!” A little laugh, more than a bit hysterical, seeped out.

  “How did Creed take over?”

  “After Mr. Flanagan let him in, he had his gun. We had no weapons. He threatened the children, told us he was going to convert us.”

  Chung peeked in again, keeping an eye on things. “How long ago was that?”

  Frances gave him a dark look. “Three, four weeks ago? I wasn’t keeping a calendar!”

  Taylor rose off the desk he was leaning on. “That’s enough for now. Let’s go see these kids.”

  Taylor looked over the survivors. Including Miss Frances, there were fifteen of them, ranging in age from a very pretty, very pregnant Hispanic girl of seventeen to a child of five. The five-year-old was precocious. He wanted to see their guns, their boots, everything. When the tyke proclaimed that he would be a soldier, Spiros, who had just entered, actually smiled and patted him on the head.

  "One day you will."

  Taylor tapped Spiros on the arm. "Leave your radio with Chung. Take Young and keep an eye on things. Stay out of sight. I don't want those things getting worked up. Steve, take Carter and go up on the roof. Call up an Evac, situation extra fine."

  Steve nodded and whispered, "Something stinks about this whole thing."

  Taylor nodded in agreement. As the three men left the room, Sister Francis started to help the young Hispanic woman, Eva, up.

  "Sergeant, if you don't mind, Eva isn't feeling well. I'm taking her to another room to lie down."

  Taylor stood. "In a minute. Carter! Get out the kit."

  Carter grinned. "You bet." Fumbling in his butt pack, Carter pulled out what looked like a large pistol. The top of it was a clear plastic chamber, filled with an amber fluid. The hypo-gun was marked with the stylized BPC of Benton PharmCorp. The old billionaire hadn’t survived the rise, but a lot of his company’s equipment had. Pulling out a package of alcohol wipes, Carter's teeth shone whitely against his ebon face.

  "Line 'em up Miss Frances. You included."

  “What is it?” Frances asked.

  “Little vaccine. Keep you and the kids from getting infected by our ‘friends’ out there.”

  For a moment, it looked like Frances was going to argue against getting a shot. Then she took a breath and pulled up the sleeve of her shirt. While she did this, Taylor was surreptitiously aiming his shotgun at her. There was something about the woman he didn't trust.

  With a hiss of CO2, Carter administered the first shot. Miss Frances turned and smiled. "See? It doesn't even hurt."

  Steve's boots made a pounding sound as he emerged onto the roof. Chung kept low, knowing that Taylor felt it trouble was close if he needed to use the code words ‘extra fine’.

  Keeping an eye on the lower, surrounding rooftops, Chung opened up the satellite radio and activated it. Pulling on the headset and sitting so he could see the entrance to the roof, Chung began to speak.

  "13 Radio, BodySnatchers. 13 Radio, BodySnatchers."

  A young woman’s voice replied, "BodySnatchers, 13. We read you five by five. Sitrep?"

  Chung licked his lips. "Destination reached. One down, KIA. Sitrep: Extra Fine."

  From the pause that followed, Chung knew that the young woman who had answered him was calling for the OOD. It was not unusual for a team to report ‘extra fine’, but in that case, an officer had to be notified. An ‘extra fine’ call usually meant a hot extraction.

  A new voice came on the radio. Chung was glad to hear Never’s voice. Never’s was a hard-nosed bastard, the kind the human race needed to survive this crisis.

  "Thirteen, Enclave Command. Sitrep is Extra Fine?"

  "Affirm. We have one five survivors. Our ‘friends’ are in the area. Request evac, ASAP."

  Never’s voice sounded dismal as he replied. "Be advised that evac is not possible before tomorrow afternoon. All craft out or down for maintenance. Are our coordinates correct?"

  Chung slammed a fist into his thigh. "Coords on the money. Keep us advised if pick up can be earlier. BodySnatchers out."

  With a heavy heart, Chung packed up the radio and went below.

  The look on Chung's face told it all. Taylor nearly threw his helmet on the ground. Instead, he rose and led Chung away. As soon as there was enough distance between Miss Frances and themselves, Taylor said, "All right. What the fuck’s the problem now?"

  Chung removed his helmet and rubbed his head. "All birds are gone or down. Tomorrow afternoon is the earliest they can come."

  Taylor ground his teeth and spent a few seconds being very pissed off.<
br />
  "I don't like being here. I don't like the whole set up."

  Chung nodded. "I know. They've been holding out here for a long time. I think we stumbled onto a Lazarite hideout. The kids are pawns, but the religoids they're in on it. Big time."

  Taylor rubbed his chin. "Here’s what we do. You and Huston booby-trap all the entrances down below. I know the doors are sturdy but it'll make us all feel better. All but the main doors. Have Young and Rizzo keep an eye there. Remind them to stay out of sight.”

  Chung nodded. In a low voice he said, “I’m worried about Rizzo. His concentration seems to drift every once in a while.”

  “I’ll tell Young to keep an eye on him. Might be he needs some down time. Make sure you tell the kids and ‘Miss’ Frances to keep away from the first floor. I'll have Theo keep an eye on her."

  Chung pulled his helmet back on and strapped it tight. "I'm on it."

  As he walked away, Taylor called after him. "Oh yeah, there's a machine shop in the basement. I saw some acetylene and propane tanks. You guys might want to use them."

  Chung grinned and gave him a thumb’s up. Taylor tapped his comm unit, "Taylor to Spiros."

  "Spiros here."

  Theo's voice as usual was calm with no sense of emotion to it. Sometimes it gave Taylor the creeps but he would not have traded the man for anything.

  "Young and Rizzo are going down. The zombies are a little restless. I think we have unwanted guests nearby. Chung and Huston are going to put in some surprises. Come on up. I want you around while I question Miss Frances."

  "Be right there."

  Miss Frances sat there, her face impassive. So far, she had refused to cooperate. Spiros had heard enough. Rising, he cracked his knuckles.

  "Undress or I'll rip your clothes off. I see anything wrong; I'll feed you to those things."

  Taylor nodded. "He'll do it lady. It's up to you whether or not you want to cooperate."

  Silent, face impassive, she rose. Moving slowly, she took off her clothes. Sweatshirt, dress slacks, finally her underwear joined the small pile. Within a few moment’s she was nude. Taylor had to admit that she had some body, the kind that could lead a man or woman to murder.