by Jack Wallen
“Thank you for at least respecting me enough to be honest. Too many lies have been told and lives lost. If you are honestly working on a vaccination then I applaud your work. If, however, you are lying to me, may I suggest you stab that needle up your ass?”
Jean’s stare cut through the space between us and knifed me in the heart. I was breaking down, I could feel it. Keeping the prisoners in the dark as to what was really going on was growing harder and harder. I knew I could fill them in on my secret and their struggles and suffering would abate. That weakness on my part, however, would end in tragedy.
Even though Jean had been vaccinated with their home-grown cure, I had to assume their discovery would either not work or not last against the ever-evolving virus. I had no choice but to continue on with my own research and assume my vaccination the only true cure.
When I informed Jean of my decision to continue on, I was surprised that he didn’t reject my hypothesis. Instead, he offered his arm so that I could complete my work. The Frenchman put up no struggle as I carefully, and slowly, injected the virus into his system. From this point on, every second was crucial. Jean’s vitals had to be closely monitored to know exactly when the next injections where to be given. To avoid suspicion, I couldn’t hover around his bedside. Instead, I programmed very precise alarms into the monitors that would alert me for each stage. The alarms fed directly into a paging system that only myself and Dr. Bagen were aware of. Fortunately for me, the elder statesman was a bit of a technophobe and refused to be permanently connected to “gadgets and gizmos.” So when the pager sounded its alarm, only I would know.
“So tell me, Professor, if I am to help you develop a cure for this dreaded disease, a vaccination you are certain has no ill effects, why is it I am restrained?” Jean lifted his arms as high as they would go before the restraints held him back.
I thought about my reply. The truth about The Board would do nothing to put the man at ease, and I couldn’t think of a suitable lie on the spot. So instead, I attempted to avoid the issue altogether. Unfortunately, Jean caught my subterfuge and pressed harder.
“Jean, I answer to a group of men who cannot grasp the complexity or the profundity of the work I am doing. What these men are seeing is pure profit. Yes, they want me to create, at all costs, a cure they can in turn mass produce and then sell to the survivors. If I do not do so, they will kick me to the post-apocalyptic curb and bring in someone else who can do the job. But the real truth, the truth that they don’t quite fully understand is that the only people on this ruined planet capable of creating the cure are in this very building. So I do everything I can to mollify that group. Once they see the end results, the restraints, the secrecy, and the –”
Before I could leave the room something happened – a not so subtle shift in the color of Jean’s cheeks and forehead. His temperature was rising. Fast.
“How are you feeling, Jean?”
I suspected I knew the answer to the question before the words escaped his lips. But this wasn’t possible. Amplification couldn’t occur since no live virus had been injected.
“Jean… is there anything I should know about? Anything you haven’t told me?” And then it dawned on me. “Had you already been infected?”
The doctor’s eyes began showing the tell-tale signs of fear.
“Yes.” Jean’s simple answer knocked me in the gut. “After we completed what we thought was the final cure we tested the vaccine by injecting both myself and Bethany with the blood of what she called a Berzerker.”
“What do you mean?” The name caught me off guard. I remembered Jacob Plummer and Bethany referring to ‘Moaners’ and ‘Screamers’, but this was new… and it made something deep in my gut twist.
“Before the extraction team came in for us, a mutation of the undead we had already confronted caught up with us. It was bigger than the others, stronger, and…” Jean hesitated as if the act of spilling out the words would bring the beast back. “The lower jaw was… bifurcated and extended.”
There was one secret that remained trapped deep within the recesses of my mind, something only I knew about. There was one strain of the Mengele Virus held back. The intention of that strain was to be used had the first strain failed. The backup strain was stronger than the original and far less predictable. When The Board wasn’t happy with the results of the original virus, they insisted on the release of the stronger version. I fought them as best I could, but it was in vain. The stronger virus was released and the mutations began.
I couldn’t confess this, not to someone who already held onto such a fine thread of hope.
“Our vaccine worked! I swear it,” Jean cried out.
He had to be lying. No one could have developed a true vaccination for the virus. It just wasn’t possible – at least not without the Heizer Sequence.
“We were working from the notes of Dr. Lindsay Godwin. But the key was in a file Bethany found.” Jean’s voice was growing raspy, breathy.
“What file are you referring to?”
Jean gave me a quizzical look, as if he was digging deeper to locate the cause of my question. “Maybe you should get that information from Bethany. She is the one, after all, who cracked the file. It’s her information to hide, not mine to reveal.”
Jean neglected to put any finality to his words, leaving them open for prodding and prying.
“Bethany trusted you implicitly, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. Would that be a fair assessment of your situation?”
It was all too obvious from the look on Jean’s face that the man wasn’t about to give. He either somehow knew I wouldn’t be willing to use extreme measures to extract the information, or Jean was one courageous man.
“Jean, if I am to help you I must have that information. Now either you tell me what I need to know, or I’ll be forced to coerce the information out of Bethany.” I had to lie, hoping the lie would reach deep into the conscience of the patient.
The color of Jean’s face continued to change. Sweat was beading on his forehead. A fever had manifested itself. The glossed-over eyes were a clear indication he was about to find himself suffering one significant change.
“Something… what have you… done?” Jean coughed.
“Infected you.” An unintentional chill in my voice made me want to run and hide.
“But why?” Jean spoke through clenched teeth.
That was the question of the century. And in order to keep the ZDC ignorant of my scheme, the truth would have to wait.
I turned to leave the room.
“No! Wait… please tell me what is going on!” Jean spoke, voice hoarse with rage.
I slammed the door behind me and leaned against its cold, unfeeling metal. I so badly wanted to be somewhere or someone else. How much longer I could take this I wasn’t sure.
Chapter 18
New York City, Unknown Location
December 2014
The evening was bitter cold. A severe snowstorm had already dumped nearly two feet of snow on Manhattan. Lesser cities would have been crippled. New York, on the other hand, knew well how to handle emergencies. Nothing was as tough as New York Tough.
The temperature had dropped well below zero. The homeless of the city had been herded into shelters. Few citizens were brave enough to take on Mother Nature when she was this pissed. And while the vast majority of New York’s citizens were holed up in their homes, the underpinnings of a very bleak future were being set in motion.
On this night, Professor Danielle Joy Michaels was introducing herself to a select group of specialists that would serve as The Zero Day Collective’s first and last line of defense.
Among the specialists was Commanding Officer Samuel Leamy. Leamy had been awarded nearly every decoration and commendation a soldier could be given for his exemplary service to his country. And when the ZDC approached the US Marines with a proposition they couldn’t turn down, Commander Leamy’s status as US Government Property was reassigned to a
n unknown group that had yet to even form an LLC or not-for-profit.
“Soldiers,” Danielle said. “Due to the delicate nature of my work, my identity is known only to level five clearance, which none of you have. What you do have clearance to know is the nature of your duty. You have all been hand picked and hired to perform a very crucial assignment. That duty is the protection of a very special effort that will become clear to you in a short while.” The professor began a series of slides that introduced the soldiers to a plan that would, eventually, turn the world inside out. Their singular duty was to safeguard that plan. Their justification for following through with their duty? More money than the U.S. Military could ever imagine. There were, however, deeper machinations the soldiers were completely unaware of. That ignorance was merely part of the schemes and devices set in motion by the curator of the plan.
What these soldiers would soon understand was that they were hired to protect a newly formed conglomeration of power, The Zero Day Collective. The soldiers would learn no names and no positions of any single member of the group. The soldiers were instructed the most important asset of the group was the very woman in front of them.
During the first few weeks of training, the rumors would begin to spread. Some of the soldiers heard tell that The ZDC was a special gathering of world leaders whose solitary goal was the eradication of terrorists. Other, less plausible, rumors included aliens, alien technology, the creation of a North American superpower, the bombing of various radical religious countries, and the legalization of pot and prostitution.
Every time a rumor would surface it would summarily be squashed by yet another, crazier rumor. Yet while these rumors spread, not a single fact ever surfaced.
And the soldiers trained on. Said training was a significant departure from standard military fare. Yes, there was the typical hand-to-hand combat. But this hand-to-hand training, strangely enough, concentrated on the art of beheading. Even weapons training was focused on scoring hits above the shoulders.
As the training continued the soldiers were constantly shuffled around, never allowing enough time for any two soldiers to get to know, or grow accustomed to, one another. It seemed, to anyone with the desire to spend any time observing the situation, that The Collective was intentionally preventing the development of any relationships – as if they wanted each and every soldier to work as a one-man killing machine.
And then – as soon as every soldier had developed a competence in every core skill The ZDC required, the soldiers were split up. Some of the trainees remained in New York, stationed at the UN Building. Other soldiers found themselves shipped off to Germany (Munich to be precise) while others were put on a plane to Paris, France. Commander Sam Leamy was sent to Paris, with no orders other than to wait. The only instruction Leamy received was that he would know his duty shortly after his arrival in Paris. When Sam did arrive, he was transported to the outskirts of the city and instructed to patiently wait in a house to which he was given the key and directions.
When Sam had arrived at the house, he let himself in and made himself at home. The home and the wait were quiet and cold. Eventually Leamy was contacted by a fellow officer, known only as Echo Bravo. Sam was informed he was only to communicate under the handle Delta Alpha. He would eventually learn of two other soldiers in Paris.
It didn’t take Sam long to crack the code underneath the wait. He and the three others were awaiting a mark to come through Paris. When that target was spotted, the mark was to be captured and transported, alive, to a yet-to-be-named location.
Somehow, around the thirty-fifth day of waiting, Sam began to severely miss the regimentation of the corps. Boredom did not suit him well; he grew anxious, restless, angry. Sam attempted to communicate with the other soldiers, but to no avail. And then, on the thirty-ninth day, something happened.
It began with a single, piercing scream.
When the first of the many undead attempted to break into the house, Leamy immediately realized that one of the less plausible rumors to float around the trainees wasn’t quite as impossible as it sounded. It appeared The Zero Day Collective was responsible for the evolution of the human race.
Chapter 19
Undisclosed Location, New York
2015
Both cars sat with their engines cooling, inside the abandoned warehouse that once was a thriving textiles factory. Clothing and other soft goods had been created, delivered, and routed through the city. The building now serving as meeting place was once the epicenter for the industry. Now the machines were silent. Only the distant echo of screams and winter’s wind could be heard
Sam Leamy stood, backed by his crew, facing the men in the black suits. The stare-down, fueled by testosterone, paranoia, and a bit of denied fear, went on longer than necessary.
“What information do you have?” Sam finally broke the spell.
Silence.
It seemed the staring contest would continue. Sam and his crew were all happy to oblige. Nerves made already itchy trigger fingers even more twitchy. Sellers, Dirt Bag, Ronald… all were ready to reach to their backsides, pull out the weapons of ass destruction they each had concealed, and pick off a face or two. Dom did what he did best when met with overly-confident defensive lines – he flexed his tensile steel muscles and glared back with the cold, menacing eyes of a wrecking machine. They were all ready to do whatever it took to get out of this situation alive and on top.
“I’ll ask only one more time. What information do you have?” Sam prodded.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
One of the suits finally stepped forward. The man was tall, skinny with the slicked-back hair and attire of one who could easily be mistaken for ‘mob.’
“Before we give you any information, we have to have your word you will return the favor,” the tall man spoke in a voice low and hushed.
Sam was almost struck dumb by a man like this offering to play his hand before forcing his opponents to play theirs. Something was up.
Sam didn’t hesitate. “Sure. You have my word. So… what’s the favor?”
The men in suits all laughed in unison. The effect was a bit too rehearsed.
“Sorry Sam, it doesn’t exactly work that way.” The stranger waved his hand over his head and an odd popping sound was heard. Sam felt a sting at the back of his neck and jerked his hand to locate, and kill, the source of the sting.
“That, Sam, is our own piece of assurance you’ll do exactly what we say. You feel that sticking out of your neck? That is a poison delivery system one of my boys created. Oh, that’s not poison. I have a remote, a detonator if you will, that’ll allow me to release the virus into your system. I push the detonator button and, in a matter of moments, you’ll either be moaning or screaming about the streets in search of fresh brains.
“The deal is this – we give you the bit of information you need to succeed in recovering your friends, while at the same time you do us our favor. When you return, having succeeded with the task, the device will be removed from your neck. Oh, and I wouldn’t try to remove that yourself. Unless a special tool is used, not only will it hurt like a son of a bitch, it will automatically release the virus.”
The stranger offered a bit of a pause to allow the information to sink in.
Sam inhaled as if to speak, but was interrupted by the be-suited man.
“First the information you need to know. There is an insider working for The Zero Day Collective. We do not have a name. We only know someone very important is working within The Collective to help bring it down. How will you know who this person is? I would rely on the one you are trying to save… she will know. You want that insider leaving the U.N. with you, because that person will be the key to understanding how to save this planet from disaster. If you exit that building alone, you have failed and may as well drop to your knees and let one of the undead have its way with you.”
“What about this favor?” Sam snarled.
“Someone w
ithin The ZDC owes us a lot of money. We want his ass delivered to us – alive.”
Sam allowed his jaw to briefly hit the floor. And, as if on cue, the sounds of distant screamers echoed within the warehouse.
“Did you hear that?” Sam pointed upward. “That is the sound of fear, and fear is the new currency.”
“I don’t follow,” the tall man replied.
“Money is no longer relevant.” Sam’s stoic tone undercut the screaming. “Look around you! It’s the end of the fucking world. What good will cash do you now? You can’t spend it. You need something, you take it. It’s a looter’s paradise and your money isn’t welcome here.”
“Money will always be relevant… even when brains aren’t. This whole freak-show has been in the works for a long, long time. We did everything we could to help stop it, but our efforts failed. One of the fat cats on the inside wound up owing us a grand sum after he hired us to neutralize the NYPD. At the time we had no idea the reason why, we just saw the dollar signs and agreed. When the deed was done, and the son of a bitch refused to pay up, well, we vowed to get even. That is all beside the point at the moment. Your only concern is getting the target back here so you can get that kill switch removed from your neck. And, while extracting our target, feel free to rescue yours. I believe there are three of them. Well… four now.”
With the trap firmly implanted in his neck, Sam had little choice. His instincts begged him to offer up a hearty ‘fuck you’ to the men in the suits to the tune of a bullet between each pair of eyes, but the thought of leaving behind Bethany and her sidekicks was too cowardly for Sam’s tastes. Besides, Sam knew Bethany was onto something with the cure. It could be within the realm of the possible she had truly discovered the means to rid the world of this plague. If that was the case, it was Sam’s duty to do everything he could to help see her work through to the end.
