Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  Soon, Fats crashed into Nordstrom and buried his green-tinted broken teeth into Nordstrom’s screaming face.

  CHAPTER 63

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  President Cole was sitting in his office behind his desk across from FBI Director Harold Paris.

  “I don’t understand,” said Cole, concern etched on his broad-featured face.

  “Somebody shot to death Scot Mellors, the deputy director of the National Clandestine Service,” said Paris.

  “I already got that part. But who did it?”

  “We don’t know. All we know at this time is that somebody murdered him on the NSA floor.”

  “Could you run that by me again, Harry?” said Cole, squinting, not sure he had heard Paris right.

  “The murder took place on the NSA floor.”

  “What was Mellors doing there? He’s not in the NSA. Nobody gets in there but members of the NSA.”

  “That’s what we’re looking into, Mr. President.”

  Cole reached for the phone on his desk. He punched in a series of numbers. “Hello. Tony, I need to talk with you in my office . . . Are you all right? . . . You sound like you just woke up . . . OK.”

  Cole hung up.

  Paris knew Cole had just phoned Holmes, the NSA director.

  “Wasn’t Mellors the one that thought Hilda Molson was murdered?” said Cole.

  Paris nodded. “And somebody took a shot at him in the hall outside my office a short while back.”

  “What!” said Cole, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? What else don’t I know? Who shot at him in the hall?”

  “I was gonna tell you, sir. It just happened a little while ago.”

  “That’s no excuse. I need to know something like that as soon as it happens.” Cole waved it off. “Anyway, what happened?”

  “That’s it. Somebody shot at Mellors in the hall. End of story.”

  “But you and I both know it’s not the end of the story, because that somebody probably killed Mellors in the NSA.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “So who did it? Who shot at Mellors in the hall?”

  “Nobody got a good look at him.”

  “Not even Mellors?”

  “Not even him. All he saw was a gun pointed at him from around a corner—”

  A knocking at the door cut off Paris’s sentence. Holmes ID’d himself at the door.

  “Come in, Tony,” said Cole.

  Nursing his bruised cheek Holmes slipped into the room, looking wobbly on his feet, and shut the door behind him.

  “What in blue blazes happened to you?” asked Cole.

  “Mellors slugged me,” answered Holmes, moving his jaw with care as he spoke, wincing.

  “Am I the last one to find out about anything in this place?” said Cole, exasperated. “Who do you people think is running the show here? Does the word president ring a bell?”

  “I just came to when you phoned me, Mr. President. It was the ringing of the phone, in fact, that roused me from unconsciousness.”

  “All right. Let’s have it.”

  “That SOB Mellors coldcocked me with a sucker punch.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted me to let him inside the NSA.”

  “So?”

  “So I wouldn’t lend him my key card to the NSA floor.”

  “Why did he want to get inside the NSA?”

  “He’s been asking questions about the Orchid Organization and the apocalypse equation,” said Holmes with annoyance.

  “He won’t be asking you questions anymore.”

  Holmes stopped massaging his bruised cheek and looked puzzled.

  It was Paris that said, “Somebody shot him in the NSA.”

  Holmes looked nonplussed.

  “If you didn’t lend him your key card, how did he get in?” Cole asked Holmes.

  “I don’t know, but I think I can find out,” answered Holmes, who withdrew his wallet and inspected its contents. He offered a lopsided smile. “He swiped my NSA key card . . . and the spare too, it seems.”

  “The spare?” said Paris.

  “He took both,” said Holmes, flipping through his wallet a second time to make sure. “Yep. They’re both missing.”

  “Why would he take two key cards?”

  “Unless somebody else took it,” said Cole, thinking out loud. “Like Mellors’s killer.”

  “That would explain how the killer got onto the NSA floor, if he wasn’t an NSA employee,” said Paris.

  “Wonderful,” said Cole, leaning back in his chair, his face long. “Now we’ve got a murderer stalking the hallways. As if my plate isn’t already full with a plague and a nuclear apocalypse.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Mr. President?”

  “What?”

  “The flesh eaters.”

  “Oh, how can I forget them,” said Cole, walling his eyes.

  “The thing is, Mr. President . . .”

  “Out with it.”

  Paris was couching his words in his mind. “The thing is, Mellors must have been right about Hilda’s death. She must have been murdered like he said.”

  “We can’t jump to that conclusion. We need to look at this with a clear head.”

  “But why did somebody kill Mellors?”

  “It’s pretty obvious somebody was stalking him, what with all you’ve said about the attack on him in the hallway and then the fact that the spare key card was lifted from Holmes’s wallet. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

  Paris nodded. “The shooter was stalking Mellors when Mellors visited Tony then ripped off the spare key card when Tony was unconscious.”

  “The way I see it, that’s the most reasonable explanation.”

  “Does anyone have an aspirin?” said Holmes with a moan, still rubbing his sore jaw.

  “Is this shooter gonna start blasting away at other people?” said Cole. “That’s what we need to know.”

  “If we can figure out why he shot Mellors, that would go a long way to indicating if he’s gonna target anyone else,” said Paris. “Motive is the key.”

  “Maybe his murder was the result of a personal grudge. In which case, the shooter’s not gonna open fire on anyone else.”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. Mellors was asking too many questions and sticking his nose where the killer didn’t want it. If any of us starts sticking their nose in the same place, we could wind up dead, too.”

  Mellors’s murder shed a whole new light on Hilda’s apparent suicide, decided Paris. If the shooter had already killed twice here in Area B, he might indeed kill again.

  “Why would anyone want to kill the deputy director of the NCS?” said Cole, unable to get his head around the point of the murder. “What possible good does it do anyone?”

  “To stop him from asking more questions,” said Paris.

  “You think the shooter has something to hide?” said Cole, cocking an eyebrow at Paris.

  “It’s one possible motivation.”

  “Well, Mellors kept harping on the apocalypse equation and the Orchid Organization. He kept pestering me and several others about them.”

  “And?”

  “And perhaps the shooter has firsthand knowledge of these two subjects. In fact, he might even be a member of Orchid and might want to cover up that fact.”

  Cole shook his head, no. “All you’re giving me is supposition. Are you saying that the Orchid Organization is involved in a conspiracy of some sort?”

  “I’m saying it would explain a lot of things that have been happening around here with these shootings.”

  “I don’t want idle conjecture, Harry. I want facts. You’re the head of the FBI. The murder of a federal official is your remit. Get on this case and arrest the shooter before he has a chance to strike again.”

  CHAPTER 64

  Nevada

  The more he thought about it, the more certain Halverson became that he could take Swiggum
without using the letter opener. After all, the guy had only one arm, no matter how big he was.

  Swiggum had no way of defending himself when it came to a slugfest, Halverson knew. If Swiggum blocked Halverson’s right-handed blow, Halverson could land a punch with his left. Swiggum could not move his single hand back and forth in time to fend off blows from Halverson’s right and left hands. There was no way Swiggum could defend himself from a flurry of blows unleashed on him by a two-armed assailant. At least half of them would connect.

  “Nothing I hate more than snitches,” said Swiggum.

  Halverson girded his loins for a scrape.

  Sneering, Swiggum was advancing on Halverson when the door opened, startling both of them.

  Wolfman entered and stuck his head around the door.

  “You’re next,” he said, casting a glance at Victoria, training his MP7 in the direction of Halverson and Swiggum, who both turned their attention to this new threat.

  Begrudgingly, Victoria made her way toward Wolfman.

  “Why don’t you take me next?” said Halverson.

  “We already took you,” said Wolfman.

  “You didn’t take me to be decontaminated.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “Liar!”

  “You’re the one who’s lying. What have you been telling your friends here?”

  Victoria hung fire, standing stock-still.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop walking,” said Wolfman. “Shorty, get in here and get her.”

  “My pleasure,” said Shorty.

  Shorty strode past Wolfman in the doorway and latched onto Victoria’s arm. He hauled her out of the room and into the corridor, as Wolfman kept his MP7 leveled alternately at Halverson and Swiggum, swinging the barrel to and fro.

  Wolfman backed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Swiggum eyeballed Halverson. “So now there’s only two of us left.”

  “And if we kill each other off, there won’t be any of us.”

  “There’s that.”

  CHAPTER 65

  Shorty tossed Victoria into room 208, not missing his chance to feel up her arm and brush his thigh against the contour of her buttocks as he did so, she couldn’t help but notice with a scowl. She wanted to lash out at him.

  He ran his leering eyes up and down her body. “It’s a shame they gotta decontaminate you too.”

  “What’s a shame about it?” said Victoria, not getting his drift.

  “What a waste of fine female flesh.”

  He peeked around behind him. Not seeing anyone he shut the door as he remained in the room with her.

  Victoria didn’t like the looks of this. She was here alone with the Jolly Green Giant. Not good, she decided. Not only was he bigger than her, he had a gun.

  He lunged at her before she had a chance to escape. Hugging her in his long arms, he pressed his body against hers, pressing hard against her breasts, crushing her, it seemed. She tried to fight him off and break free from his bear hug, but he was too strong. She could not even manage to scratch his face courtesy of his bear hug that pinioned her arms at her sides. She tried to knee his groin, but she could not raise her knee high enough to reach it. When he realized what she was trying to do, he squeezed his legs together to prevent her from raising her knees at all.

  She did the only thing she could think of.

  She screamed for all she was worth.

  Incredibly, the door flung open. Wolfman was standing there, framed in the doorway, a glower on his face.

  “Let her go, you lamebrain!” he cried.

  “Why?” said Shorty, easing his grasp on Victoria but not releasing her. “Let’s have some fun with her before they decontaminate her.”

  “Because I said so,” said Wolfman, drew a bead on Shorty with his MP7, and racked the slide.

  “This is easy pickings anyway you look at it. You’re plumb crazy to pass up this side of meat. Can’t you see the rack on her? Or are you a fruitcake?”

  “Let her go,” said Wolfman in a voice that brooked no debate.

  “Ah, I was just having some fun with her,” said Shorty, releasing her, getting in a parting squeeze of her breasts. “What’s the big deal?”

  Victoria slapped his hand away from her.

  “We do exactly what the boss tells us to do,” said Wolfman.

  “Are you scared of him? Is that it?”

  “Get out of here.”

  Head down, Shorty reluctantly left the room.

  Wolfman stalked out after him, locking the door behind him.

  Victoria took stock of her surroundings. An empty white room, immaculately clean, so pristine it seemed to gleam.

  But where was the showerhead? she wondered.

  This whole place and Shorty’s molestation of her were bumming her out. Becoming depressed she started thinking about her daughter Shawna whom she had lost to the plague in Santa Monica. What kind of a life was it without her daughter to keep her company? Shawna had been cut down by the plague before she had even reached ten years of age. It was never right for a mother to outlive her offspring.

  Where did this hellacious plague come from? she wondered. And then, adding insult to injury, the government had raked the world with A-bombs to destroy the plague. Not only did the bombs fail to eradicate the plague, they turned the world into a nuclear wasteland, wiping out much of what was left of civilization.

  She wondered why she should keep on living in such a debacle of a world. So what if she got decontaminated? Then what? At this point, she could care less if she got decontaminated.

  Her ears pricked up at a scraping sound that was emanating from beyond the door at the other end of the room.

  Were the decontaminators heading her way? she wondered. She wished she could work up some enthusiasm about getting decontaminated, but it meant nothing to her.

  She stood in the room and waited for them to enter.

  The world was going to hell in a handbasket, but somehow she had to keep going, she decided. She wondered where Simone, Travis, and Sven were. She would find out soon enough, she knew.

  The scraping/shuffling sound was getting nearer now. The door would open any minute.

  CHAPTER 66

  Halverson was surprised to see Shorty entering the guest room soon after he had left with Victoria for the decontamination room.

  “What a piece of ass,” said Shorty, flashing a broad grin on his face. “That Vicky was a great lay!”

  In one deft movement Halverson withdrew the letter opener from his waistband. He launched himself at Shorty, whipped the letter opener upward, and thrust it under Shorty’s jaw. The edge of the opener sliced easily through the soft underside of his jaw, through his tongue and palate, and deep into his brain. Shorty crumpled, eyes staring in shocked disbelief, dead before he hit the floor.

  Halverson snagged the MP7 from Shorty’s hands and opened fire on one of the two guards that were standing outside in the hall. The guard fell dead in a heap. Halverson kept the other guard alive and said, “Drop your gun.”

  Checking out Halverson’s MP7 with wide eyes, the guard complied.

  “Take me to the decontamination room,” said Halverson.

  They headed down the hallway, Halverson bringing up the rear.

  Swiggum barreled out of the guest room, swiped the MP7 from the dead guard in the hall, and followed Halverson.

  “I guess you’re not a mole,” said Swiggum, catching up to Halverson. “Where’d you get that knife you put into Shorty?”

  “It wasn’t a knife. It was a letter opener.”

  “Cool.” Swiggum scoped out the hallway. “Now how do we get out of this tomb?”

  “I’m getting Victoria first.”

  “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

  “I’m not leaving without her.”

  Swiggum shrugged, displeased with Halverson’s decision.

  Nevertheless, Swiggum followed Halverson and the guard as they trooped down the hall. />
  “Where is she?” Halverson asked the guard, his voice edged.

  The terrified guard nodded toward a door with the number 208 on it. “In there.”

  Halverson brought up in front of the door and tried to twist its handle open. It wouldn’t give. “Where’s the key card?”

  The guard delved in his trouser pocket and fished out a key card.

  As Halverson was inserting the key card into the door handle’s steel slot, the guard turned tail and fled. Except he didn’t get very far. A bullet from Halverson’s MP7 saw to that. The guard sprawled on the floor, a bullet lodged in his spine.

  Halverson swung open the door to the decontamination room.

  Flabbergasted, he stood in the doorway. It was pandemonium inside. A hodgepodge of moving bodies was migrating into the room. Halverson tried to figure out what was going on in the melee. A knot of shambling decrepit bodies with decaying faces constellated near the door in the opposite wall. It didn’t take long for Halverson to realize the schlepping bodies belonged to flesh eaters.

  Then Victoria screamed.

  Additional flesh eaters were barging through the doorway and slogging toward her. Packed close together, faces grimacing, slobbering, they plowed toward her like a single entity.

  Halverson swung into action. He took careful aim and fired deadly accurate three-round bursts into the heads of the three lead creatures, which dropped motionless to the floor and impeded the progress of the mob behind them.

  Victoria took advantage of the momentary lull in the throng’s progress to dart to Halverson’s side.

  She and Halverson bolted out of the room into the corridor.

  “You weren’t kidding about zombies being in this place,” said Swiggum, clapping eyes on the grisly mob scene inside the room. “What’s going on here?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out,” said Halverson.

  He left the door to room 208 open.

  “What are you doing?” said Swiggum, alarmed. “They’ll get out.”

  “That’s the idea. It’s a diversion.”