Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  At that moment, a teenage brunette in yellow culottes and a white blouse, whipped through the back door into the courtroom, her perspiring face twisted with excitement.

  “I have important news!” she hollered at Bascomb.

  “Can’t it hold? We’re in the midst of a trial,” he said.

  “No. I have to tell you.”

  “Settle down! Take deep breaths.”

  The brunette stopped running down the center aisle and gasped for breath.

  “Now what are you so agitated about?” asked Bascomb.

  “I was out on a foraging mission on one of the Zodiacs.”

  “It’s not the end of the world if you didn’t find any supplies.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  The brunette gulped more air. “We couldn’t land in San Francisco because the infected are massing there.”

  Bascomb looked attentive. “How many?”

  “Hundreds of thousands of them. They’re everywhere you look, like they’re literally crawling all over each other in piles.”

  A din arose in the courtroom when everyone fell to muttering in consternation.

  “Calm down,” said Bascomb. “There’s no need to worry. Even if there are millions of them out there, they can’t reach us here on the island. They can’t swim. We’re safe.”

  “They could use boats,” said the brunette.

  “They don’t have the muscular coordination to sail boats. The disease has atrophied their muscles and nervous systems.”

  “But why are they doing this?” asked the brunette, blue eyes wide.

  “Where are they exactly?”

  “All over Fisherman’s Wharf. They’re all over the coastline, actually. That’s why we couldn’t find anywhere to dock our boat and go foraging.”

  “I don’t get it,” chipped in Jones, standing in front of the judge’s desk. “They’ve never done this before.”

  “We’ll have to forage somewhere else,” said Bascomb. “We’ll sail farther down the coast for supplies. That’s all.”

  Nobody seemed consoled by Bascomb’s words, Halverson noticed. To a man, the residents sitting in the cafeteria looked disconcerted.

  He knew the ghouls had a herding instinct, but it seemed odd that they would be herding in this particular area at this particular time. But then again maybe it was just a fluke.

  “What’s it mean?” asked Jones.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” answered Bascomb shortly. “The infected can’t think. They can’t plan. There’s no meaning to anything they do. You all worry too much.”

  “You’re the one digging the bunker,” said Reno.

  Bascomb confronted Reno. “There’s good reason to worry about the government attacking us. They have the ability and the resources to launch an attack. The infected simply aren’t a viable threat while we’re on Alcatraz, no matter how many of them are out there.”

  “If you say so,” murmured Reno, his face impassive.

  “Why don’t we give the defendant back to them,” said Jones. “Maybe that’ll make them happy and they’ll go away.”

  The ghoul writhed more vigorously in its wheelchair, as if the creature knew what they were saying.

  Reno sniggered. “Fat chance. Like they care about each other or something. They’re dead. They don’t care about anyone, not even themselves.”

  “You think they’re gathering out there because they want the accused back?” Bascomb asked Jones, unconvinced.

  “Why else would they all suddenly crop up there?” said Jones. “Maybe this infected is a head honcho among them.”

  Reno eyeballed the ghoul as it screwed up its face and struggled against its bonds in the wheelchair trying to free itself.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Reno. “They’re just dead things walking around. All they can think about is eating.”

  “They’re not dead,” said Jones. “If they were dead, they couldn’t walk. They’re infected. The disease has eaten into their brains and turned them into cannibals.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about. They have no heartbeat. They’re dead.”

  “That’s enough squabbling,” said Bascomb. “Where were we before I was interrupted?”

  “You were ruling on the case,” said Jones.

  “Oh yes.” He gaveled the court to order. “Silence in the courtroom.”

  The worked-up spectators ceased their chattering.

  “I find the defendant innocent of all charges,” announced Bascomb.

  “Like hell you’re gonna let that thing free!” cried Reno, leaping out of his seat and rushing the ghoul in the wheelchair.

  Before anyone could intervene, Reno snapped his hunting knife from his waistband, charged the ghoul, and rammed the blade into the creature’s right eye up to the hilt.

  “Die for good, scumbag!” he yelled.

  The creature succumbed in the wheelchair and slumped backward, Reno’s knife protruding from its eye. The creature’s manacled hands flapped a couple times then became motionless.

  Chapter 45

  Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom.

  “Bailiff!” shouted Bascomb. “Arrest that man!”

  The bailiff stormed toward Reno and hustled him away from the dead ghoul in the wheelchair. The bailiff pinioned Reno’s arms behind his back with handcuffs.

  “We’re charging you with murdering a defenseless man,” Bascomb told Reno.

  “This is madness!” exploded Reno, struggling to break free from the bailiff. “It’s impossible to murder a corpse. You belong in a loony bin!”

  Bascomb banged his gavel. “Silence!”

  “Madness!” repeated Reno.

  “Your Honor,” said Halverson, managing to maintain his equanimity amidst the chaos. “With all due respect, how can you charge Reno with murder when no murder has been committed?”

  “Are you blind?” said Bascomb. “He killed one of the infected right before our very eyes.”

  It was impossible to argue with Bascomb, decided Halverson. Bascomb could not get it through his head that the infected were already dead.

  “He killed a ghoul,” said Halverson.

  “You can present Reno’s defense in our next session.”

  “I don’t know whether to scream in frustration or laugh my head off,” said Reno. “This is insane. I don’t believe it’s happening.”

  “This is no laughing matter,” said Bascomb. “You have been charged with murder.”

  Reno shook his head in disbelief. “I killed a man-eating monster. Look outside. They’re all over the place in San Francisco just waiting to kill you.”

  “That’ll be enough.”

  “If we don’t kill them, they’re gonna kill us. There are no half measures with these things. They have to be exterminated before they take over the planet.”

  “We cannot allow society to crumble into anarchy on account of a plague. We must continue to maintain order no matter what.”

  “I’m all for social order,” said Halverson, “but if we don’t fight the ghouls and kill them, they’ll run amok every which way and wipe us out.”

  “We will make every attempt to defend ourselves from them, but we won’t resort to cold-blooded murder. If we grant carte blanche to kill the infected on sight, it’s only a matter of time before we start killing ourselves.”

  “How do you figure that?” said Reno. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “Law and order will collapse. Mark my words, we’ll slaughter each other like wild animals in the streets if we legitimize the murder of the infected.”

  “There’s no comparison between people killing monsters and people killing each other.”

  “Nobody’s killing monsters. There aren’t any monsters. The infected are people like you and me, not monsters.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “I get this,” said Bascomb. “You’re going to lockup.”

  “The ghouls
must be destroyed. They need to be killed on sight. We can’t treat them like fellow human beings.”

  “Then society crumbles and we become like them.”

  “No,” said Halverson. “We don’t—because they’re dead and we’re alive. As soon as we become like them, we’re dead.”

  “Semantics,” scoffed Bascomb. “The infected have as much right to live as the rest of us.”

  “Except they’re not alive in the first place!” fumed Reno.

  “Take him away,” Bascomb told the bailiff.

  Reno struggled to break free from the bailiff’s grasp. “This is a travesty of justice! Let me go!”

  “Order in the court! Or you’ll be thrown into the dungeon!”

  “This is a kangaroo court!”

  “Order! I’m not going to warn you again!”

  Reno saw the futility of his putting up a fight with the handcuffs binding him. He stopped grappling with the bailiff. She shepherded him out of the courtroom.

  “I must protest, Your Honor,” said Halverson, standing in front of the judge’s desk. “How can Reno be accused of a crime here when no crime was committed?”

  “I don’t want to play verbal games with you again, Mr. Halverson,” said Bascomb.

  “The ghoul on trial was dead to begin with. How can he be killed if he’s already dead?”

  Bascomb glanced down over his desk at the ghoul slumped motionless in the wheelchair, its head tilted back. “He’s certainly dead now. And that knife sticking out of his eye is the reason. That adds up to homicide in my book.”

  “Back in the day you would be right. But nowadays all bets are off. Everything changed with the plague.”

  “Not everything. The rules of law haven’t changed. Murder is murder.”

  Halverson felt like he was grinding away in futility arguing with Bascomb. Maybe Bascomb truly believed the ghouls were plague-infected live humans, Halverson decided. Then again, maybe not. In any case, Halverson’s arguments to the contrary cut no ice with Bascomb.

  Halverson decided to keep his own counsel.

  “Court is adjourned,” declared Bascomb.

  He banged his gavel and stood up.

  For his part, Halverson sat down and slouched back in his chair, weary of his verbal sparring with Bascomb.

  “I’m getting tired of being a shut-in,” said Victoria, sitting beside Halverson.

  “What do you expect in a prison?” said Parnell as he shifted in his chair beside them.

  Victoria stared blankly ahead of her.

  Halverson watched Bascomb disappear into his chambers.

  “Maybe it’s time to make a run for it,” said Halverson.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever hear myself say this, but I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Parnell. “Granted, this place is safe from the infected. The problem is, it’s so poorly run by Bascomb.”

  “It’s a mismanaged fiasco,” said Victoria. “What is the point of putting these ghouls on trial?”

  “Maybe he believes in what he’s doing.”

  “I doubt it,” said Halverson. “I think these are show trials staged for the residents here.”

  “Why?” asked Victoria.

  “It could be a power thing. He wants everyone to be constantly aware that he’s in control.”

  “How does this trial do that?”

  “Every time he holds one of these trials, he gets up onstage and passes judgments on the defendants. It reinforces his status as an authority figure. Everyone here is answerable to him.”

  “He’s worse than I thought, if that’s true.”

  “We might be better off taking our chances among the infected,” said Parnell. “I don’t think they’re monsters like you do.”

  “You don’t?” said Halverson in surprise.

  “I think they retain vestiges of their humanity deep inside them, but they’re unable to express it.”

  Halverson shook his head, no. “They’re dead, Doc. Their humanity died with them.”

  “They’re only dead in the sense that their hearts stopped beating.”

  “Doc, you’re overthinking this,” said Victoria. “The walking dead can’t feel human emotions, and they can’t think. Just look at them. But I’m with both of you on this: let’s cut and run from this island.”

  “The first thing we have to do is free Reno,” said Halverson.

  Chapter 46

  Bascomb debouched from the main entrance of the prison and headed for the warden’s house, i.e., his house, which was situated to the left of the lighthouse.

  Feeling jacked up thanks to the trial, he was looking forward to the pleasures that Brittany Pine had to offer him. Trials always did that to him—got the old adrenaline going. All his juices were coursing through him as he swept into his house.

  Chapter 47

  Newton the iguana felt miserable as he lay on the prow of the Costaguana, his claws tense. He was freezing to death. The cold bay area weather was literally sapping the life out of him bit by bit. He needed bright hot sun shining down on him to revitalize him.

  As it was, he could barely move, what with the chill wind sweeping across the bow of the sailboat. He had no desire to move in the coldness.

  He wished he was noshing on bougainvillea flowers and fuchsias in Santa Monica, or better yet in his hometown of Colombia. Not only was he freezing here, he was starving. What had become of his warm human friends? he wondered. He missed their warmth. Would they ever return?

  He tightened up and remained motionless as he heard the sailboat creaking and felt it pitching beneath him.

  He picked up on two strange men boarding the sailboat. It was best not to move, he knew, when he crossed paths with potential enemies.

  The men prowled around the boat.

  Newton wondered what they were searching for, if anything. Maybe they were just investigating the boat, inspecting what was onboard.

  Newton didn’t like the looks of them. He kept a vigilant eye on them.

  “What is that?” asked a man with a bald tattooed head, pointing at Newton.

  “Some kind of lizard,” answered the other man, a shorter man who sported a dark goatee that curled forward out from under his chin.

  “Can you eat them?”

  “Beats me. Lizard meat? I never had it.”

  “It would be fresh food, though. I sure would like some fresh meat. I’m getting tired of canned food fast.” Tattoo Head gazed at Newton. “Is that thing poisonous?”

  “I wouldn’t want to find out.”

  Tattoo Head took a step toward Newton.

  Newton didn’t like the looks of either one of them.

  He scampered off the prow and dove into the icy bay waters just as Tattoo Head lunged at him.

  Tattoo Head pulled up empty-handed and heaved a sigh. “There goes dinner.”

  “What do we have over here?” said Goatee.

  “What?” Tattoo Head turned to see what his companion was looking at.

  “The Chosen One’s gonna want to find out about these.”

  Smiling, Goatee hefted a moneybag.

  Chapter 48

  Brittany found herself lying on a bed in a well-appointed bedroom. She felt weak and groggy. She also felt feverish.

  She ached to eat in the worst way. But not just anything. She had a burning desire to eat fresh raw meat.

  She felt weak. She could hardly move.

  She managed to tilt her head up from her supine position and look down at her body. She realized she was wearing nothing but her bra and panties.

  For the life of her, she could not recall removing her clothes.

  Her throat felt sore and her teeth ached. She felt like she was coming down with something. She could do with a couple tablets of extra-strength Tylenol.

  She heard the door to the bedroom click open.

  Hopefully, somebody was bringing her some raw meat. She felt like she could down ten pounds of ground round and an entire T-bone steak in the blink of an eye.

 
The back of her heel ached where her boyfriend had bitten her. She had not told the others about it because she did not want them to worry about her. In any case, it was a small bite. His teeth had barely broken the surface of her skin, and she had not bled much. It wasn’t anything to worry about.

  It was pointless to worry. Sure, everything was a mess. The plague was killing everybody off. They were all screwed. Every last one of them. That was the way it was these days. There was nothing you could do about it, she decided. So why worry?

  She wished she had more energy. She felt like she was going to pass out any second. She was having trouble focusing her eyes. She was surrounded by blurs. Fitfully, black dots stippled her vision then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

  She wished she was somewhere else. On a beach in Malibu, lying on a towel on the warm, soft sand and soaking up rays as the surf crashed around her. Instead, she was in Alcatraz hemmed in by the walking dead. Why did it have to be like this? she wondered. Why did it have to be her lying here? Why couldn’t it be somebody else?

  Questions with no answers, she decided. That was what her life added up to. Questions with no answers. She went to college to try and find some answers, but all she ended up with was more questions. Every question begged more questions, with no answers in sight.

  Through a haze she thought she could discern somebody standing over her. To her shock, it looked like a naked man. He was leaning over her and pulling her bra off.

  She wanted to scream. She tried to sit up in bed. But she felt paralyzed. It was like a nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream, but the scream died in her throat.

  She lay helplessly with her mouth open, while in her mind she was screaming her lungs out for help.

  Petrified with fear, she felt him tearing her panties off.

  This can’t be happening! she thought wildly. It must be a nightmare. How could anyone possibly think of sex in the middle of a plague?

  All she wanted to do was eat. The overpowering urge to eat was inflaming her brain. She wanted to be left alone so she could eat fresh meat. She could literally taste blood-soaked raw meat on her tongue. She could taste hot blood leaching out of the flesh onto her tongue. She salivated at the sensation.