Flanders grunted and put the hand on the flat screen. A blue light appeared and the display changed. ENTER PASSWORD it asked. Flanders typed quickly: MEGGIDO. Thank goodness, Howard’s guilt made him pass this information on. The screen blinked. FAILSAFE DISENGAGED. AWAITING FINAL PASSWORD. Now that the system was active, Flanders placed his own hand on the dead man’s switch, shoving Howard’s aside.
Once he moved his hand, there would be no way to stop Keystone from being destroyed.
Two more Lazarites came sliding down the tunnel, rifles ready. They came across the body of their fellow chest shattered, a pool of blood beneath him. One, a slender woman peered ahead, seeing the shadow of another body. “Hey,” she said. “There’s another one.” Leaving the corpse of their fellow, they crept up on the other body. Handing her rifle to her fellow, the women knelt and turned the body over.
With a grimace of pain, eyes out of focus, Spiros whispered, “Gloria… Denise… I’m com...”
And he released the spoon on the grenade he hoped never to use.
The team jumped as the roar of the grenade echoed in and out of the tunnel. Taylor and Houston exchanged relived glances. At least their friend had gone out his own way, rather than tortured and fed to the damned zombies.
Outside the tunnel, Finley and his cell jumped at the sound of the explosion. Cursing aloud, the former Enclaver knew that the reinforcements he sent in were likely dead. Well, he had plenty more to spare. Whatever was at the end of the tunnel was wanted by the Enclavers – he was going to see that they didn’t. Finley put a hand on his second in command. “Go brother. Take them that they may feed the Blessed.” With the innocent smile of a true fanatic, Antoine, his dark cheeks marred with the red diamond, moved off, motioning for other gun toting Lazarites to follow him. Unarmed ones carried chunks of flesh leading the zombies behind them.
The Helo flight was five minutes out. The flight leader, Lieutenant Henry Ng, was of Vietnamese ancestry. Unlike many others, some of his family had survived. Two brothers and a sister, all doctors, were in various Enclaves. He did his job to keep them and other survivors, safe. A superb pilot, he was leading not one or two attack helos, but a flight of five, all armed for bear. He was going to make sure that not one Lazarite, not one zombie, survived.
Taylor’s headset activated. “Sarge, this is Edmonds. I found Flanders and it doesn’t look good.” Taylor tapped Chung. “Keep an eye out. We’ve got another problem.”
Flanders, hand on the activation plate, smiled at Edmonds. “Please don’t try anything. I’ll talk only to Sergeant Taylor.”
“And here I am, what the fucks going on?”
Flanders talked in a low, weary voice. “Did you retrieve the vaccine?”
Edmonds nodded. “We just got it out, five canisters. Zevon’s moving it.”
“Listen to me Sergeant Taylor, what I have to say is for your ears only.” Flanders eyes flicked to Edmonds.
Taylor made a motion with his thumb. “Get over by Chung. Tell him I said kill anything that comes down that tunnel. Go.”
As soon as Edmonds was gone, Taylor stared hard at Flanders, only then noticing the bloodstain that was spreading across his stomach and onto the floor.
“Doc, we can . . .”
Flanders shook his head. “No, it’s too late for me and for this place. If I take my hand off this plate, a neutron bomb will activate. It will incinerate this hellhole, everything in it and grant me redemption.”
Taylor froze. “Redemption?”
Flanders face went cold. “I was part of the original team that created the first virus. I escaped from Benton’s employment the night of the Delaware fire. I thought all the research was destroyed, but I was wrong. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. All of this is my fault.”
Taylor felt his finger twitch on the shotgun. “Why did you wait so long? You let millions of people die, you bastard!”
Flanders shook his head. “Things fell apart too fast. I left Benton after the initial discovery, threatened them with full disclosure if they tried anything against me. Benton and his cronies knew I would do it. I lived in fear of them for years. Now, I’ve given you the ability to save the world, begin anew. Take it and go.”
Taylor made a slight move and Flanders hand came up, pistol in it. “I don’t want to shoot you Sergeant. The world needs men like you. But if I move my hand, in five minutes, the bomb will detonate. Get to the helicopters; be at least five miles away.”
Taylor chewed his lip, then turned, and left.
The Lazarites reached the corpse left them by Taylor. One of them leaned down and was vaporized as the claymores erupted. Four of the weapons, set in tandem sent hundreds of steel balls ricocheting down the corridor. The corridor, carved from granite, floor lined with stainless steel, was a death trap. The Lazarites, the zombies behind them, all were chopped to bits by the deadly weapons. The trap bought the team a little more time.
Outside, Finley snarled a curse and motioned to his followers. “It ends here.” Grabbing his pistol, he began to stalk toward the entrance to the base.
Aerial Assault Team
Outside Keystone Base
2 June 2037
Captain Ng, peering into his low light television screen could see the gout of flame that erupted out of Keystone’s entrance. The Blackhawks were lying back in case they were needed, with the fifth one on the other side of the mountain as an extraction unit.
“Mobius Flight, follow my lead. Area is hot. Our people are inside, all outside are hostile.”
Another pilot broke in. “What the word, Ng?”
In his cockpit, Ng smiled grimly. “Exterminate them like the vermin they are.”
The first thing the Lazarites heard was the whoosh of a missile as it streaked down into their comms van. Mobius 2 had locked onto the heat from the engine and fired a hellfire into it. Used to destroy tanks, it obliterated the van, blowing the crew into crispy bits of baked human.
The other helos moved in, chain guns zippering back and forth. Some of the Lazarites tried to fight back, but all their hand held weapons succeeded in doing was annoy the pilots and gunners. While the Lazarites attempted to fight, the zombies simply stood around, except those that were enjoying barbecue night near the van. Avoiding the flames, the always-ravenous creatures searched the wreckage for scraps of human remains.
As soon as the Van exploded, Finley ducked inside the entrance and ran down the tunnel. As he did, he slipped in gore from his fellow Lazarites and ‘Blessed’ and slid into a wall banging his head. With a moan, he collapsed in the tunnel, too dazed to rise to his feet.
“That’s it,” said Taylor. “Let’s go. Move it!” Zevon stared at his friend. “We’re leaving?” Taylor grabbed him by the collar and shoved the taller man back toward the entrance they’d used. They could hear the sounds of the rockets and min-guns echoing down the corridor.
“Hear that? That’s a flight of Apaches bringing down a world of hurt on those fuckers. Time to go!”
Behind them, forgotten, Flanders needed all of his strength to keep his hand on the panel. The pistol in his other hand felt as if it weighed a ton and his vision was swimming before him. A few more moments Xavier, a few more moments . . .
Enclave 13
Inside/Outside Keystone Base
03 June 2037
Ng grinned as he came in low, gun firing. His gunner, Sheila Conroy was great. It was said she could shoot flies out of the air with the chain gun. Now she was amusing herself blowing the legs off Lazarites. As their limbs were shattered and they fell, the always-present zombies attracted by the smell of the blood, closed in. Lazarites died screaming, some joyfully, as their former allies dined on them. While some accepted their fate, others died in fear and terror, mimicking their many victims. The sounds of the screams died away as more of the Lazarites were devoured. Even while the zombies were getting their best meal in a while, it was their last. The Apaches began laying down phosphor-filled rockets, crisping ever
ything within five hundred yards of the Keystone’s entrance.
Taylor was the last man out of Keystone. Stopping he peered back into the tunnel. Other than Spiros and Flanders, they all made it. Pausing a moment, he slammed the door shut, leaning on it a moment, listening as the echo of the bolts slamming in place faded.
Finley awoke. Gasping with the smell of smoke, he staggered into Keystone. Unable to see well, even in the emergency lights, he entered the command room. Surely, some of his people made it in here.
A quiet voice said, “Over here.”
Finley moved off, unaware that several zombies were following him. Staggering through the room, he came to a corner. Flanders, nearly bled out, sat there, one hand on a panel. Before he could raise his weapon, Flanders fired. The bullet hit Finley in the leg, smashing his thighbone. With a scream, the Lazarite leader fell back, his leg shattered, hands trying to hold in the blood that was erupting out of the wound.
That was the last thing Flanders would ever see. With a gurgle of air, he collapsed across the console, hand still on the panel.
Taylor had Chung take point as he took tail end. The team moved off to the extraction point, Taylor wondering how much time they had left. “Leary! As soon as we’re clear, call that fucking helo and tell them to be ready to move! The rest of you, anything in the way that ain’t us, kill it!”
The zombies, twenty of them, moved into the control room. Once inside they could smell it – the fine, coppery scent of blood. Finley, blood flowing out of his wound at an alarming pace, didn’t realize the danger until one of the zombies touched him. Screaming he tried to back away, but his hands, slippery with blood, wouldn’t give him any purchase. Horror in his eyes, terror in his heart, he could only scream as two of the zombies grabbed his ankles and began to engage in a bizarre tug of war. As he opened his mouth to scream, a zombie’s fingers slipped in, terrible crooked fingernails latching into the meat of his cheek and ripping it open. Then another fell upon him, it’s foul mouth tearing off his ear, spitting it out, and beginning to gnaw on his head. Slowly the zombies tore the traitor to bits. Eyes, tongue, intestines, Finley suffered the same fate he sent so many to.
Other zombies unable to reach the first feast found Flanders. Growling their cry of unending hunger, they yanked his body away from the console, his cooling hand sliding from the panel. Instantly a countdown began: 4:59 . . . 4:58
The chopper was the greatest sight Taylor had ever seen. The few Zombies they encountered ignored them, even as bullets shattered their skulls. Making sure his team was secure; Taylor went to the cabin. “How long before you can get five miles from here?”
The pilot looked confused.
“HOW LONG?”
“About two minutes, why?
“Get going and warn the other pilots, there’s about to be a nuclear explosion.”
“HOLY SHIT!” The pilot threw the chopper forward, speeding across the land to pick up speed.
The countdown continued mercilessly as the zombies devoured the last of their meal. Flanders head started to reactivate but it was too late for the rest of his body. Now the head lay there, eyes rolling, jaws clacking, as deep within the bowels of Keystone, a relay clicked.
Even on the ground, miles away, the team could feel the tremors as Keystone base and its horrible secrets were destroyed. The one thing Flanders didn’t know about the bomb was that it was a shaped nuclear device, meant to destroy the base while making outsiders think it was an earthquake. Now the base and whatever other dangers it held, was gone, vaporized by a weapon once thought to be humanity’s deadliest.
Epilogue
Enclave 13
01 November 2047
From the journal of General James Nevers
That was a decade ago. The anti-virus, for that’s what it was, was easily reproduced, and spread in a method similar to crop spraying. It was also placed in artillery shells set to air burst as well as aerosol bombs dropped by aircraft. Its purpose was to kill the zombie virus, and then deactivate. Within two years, it was safe to die again, CR-IV destroyed, knowing that the dead wouldn’t come back. The Lazarites are still troublesome in places, but without their allies, just one more post-war problem to deal with. A census was finally taken and in America, the total was twenty-five million people, with just over four hundred million worldwide. In areas such as Alaska, Lapland, Siberia, parts of deepest Africa and the far end of South America, where there were no Lazarite interventions, more people survived than previously thought. Zombie hunts continued, since the remaining living dead still stalked the earth, but with weather and bounties paid, their numbers are shrinking, soon they’ll be gone, no more a menace. Will they then be regarded as a bogeyman? A story to frighten children who didn’t grow up under their specter? We can only hope, just as we can only hope that these mistakes won’t be repeated by future generations. That humanity will finally have learned wisdom after coming so close to extinction.
Or is that asking too much?
Appendix 1: The Order of Lazarus
From the United World Encyclopedia, 1st Edition, 2085
“The War Against the Dead” available on WorldNet
Even more than the zombies (or undead or zombies, or other epithets the populace used during the war) the members of the Order of Lazarus were the most dangerous to the survivors of the Rise. A fringe group that traced it’s origins to before the new Millennium, it survived and not only thrived in the chaos of the Rise, but become a danger to the very survival of the human race. Since the Order itself kept few records, choosing to reject most technology, its origins are lost to us. The Order of Lazarus is believed to have begun in either the upper mid-west or the northeast of the United States. Some historians believe it was part of the survivalist craze of the 1980’s, but survivors of various groups, many of whom eventually sided with the Enclaves, claim this isn’t true, that they rejected the Order and its message of life through death. Only one name can be securely attached to its birth. Lazarus. Killed in the early days of the uprising by helicopter gunships, his body devoured by what his own beliefs called ‘The Blessed’, between his death and the massive loss of records during the war, little to no evidence of him remains. What started this travesty of a religion isn’t important any more. What is important is that among the Order’s espoused goals were to bring down whatever society it was, like a tick, nestled in. Growing slowly through the last decades of the 20th century, it was in these years before the new century that the Order began to be noticed. While on the outside they were seen to be benevolent, running soup kitchens, giving succor to the homeless, building cheap housing; on the inside, they were passing their message of hate to those most eager to listen; the outcasts of society. However, when one joined, the reasons they became outcast, drug and alcohol addictions, thievery, rape, were not tolerated among the Order itself. Those habits were either burned out, or the member disappeared. The Lazarites preached a love of death, the overthrow of all governments across the globe. Their message was one of anarchy. In the west, until the Rise, their message went barely noticed by the mainstream world, while in the east, Order members were martyred by Islamic and the few Communist regimes that survived the fall of the Soviet Union.
How they were able to survive among and ally themselves with the dead was not discovered for years. When it was, it was one of the tide turning events of the war, nearly as important as the rediscovery of Keystone. They had a ranking system known to themselves; as a group, they would call themselves a host, such as “The Host of Arizona.” Knowledge of only two ranks, Docent and Acolyte, were ever learned by Enclave forces.
When, in the first year of the Rise, they revealed their true colors, they would finally be declared outlaws, first by Presidential, then by a United Nations (one of the last of that organization’s acts, as it fell apart not long into the Rise, various countries preferring to attempt to save their own citizens, rather than listen to anything further from the UN) decree. It was then that the Order, stronger than any
knew, took their rebellion to the streets, doing what they could to disrupt rescue efforts, leading the zombies to survivors, going to war against the rest of humanity. It may never be known how many survivors were given to the dead, how many needed supplies were destroyed in their actions. The war was long and bloody, with little quarter given on either side. Lazarites swore not to be taken alive, while Enclavers would rather die that submit to the tender ministrations of their enemy. A decade after the war ended, cells of Lazarites were still being encountered. It would be three decades before they and the last of the zombies were finally eradicated.
The Order of Lazarus remains a horrible piece in the most hideous war in human history.
Appendix 2 –Enclaves
The Enclaves were born out of the 1950’s fear of nuclear war. Many of the underground Enclaves originally began as nuclear fallout shelters. Many of those located in the Midwest incorporated already existing Titan and Minutemen missile silos. As the decades passed, the mission of the shelters, while primarily for nuclear war, were also considered for biological attack, natural disasters and rallying points if the US were ever invaded or had a civil war.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 52
