I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  *

  The meeting room was nothing special, just a large round table with a single laptop. Seated around the laptop were the very friendly faces of complete strangers. They each looked upon me as if I held the keys to the kingdom of heaven and was about to hand said keys over to one lucky person.

  First to introduce herself was Morgan Barnhart. She was a wisp of a girl with an adorable face that spoke volumes to a nerd like me. She could make you swoon before you realized she had you under some strange spell that rendered you powerless to resist her charms. Her cohort in crime, Joshua Garcia, was a big man with a ham-sized fist that could crush your skull as he yelled out the lyrics to Avenged Sevenfold songs in a throaty, bear-roar of a voice. He was Chewbacca to Morgan’s Leah.

  Yeah, I said it.

  We all sat. Jamal stood. There was some irony to the motion I wanted to track down. My brain wasn’t functioning properly at the moment.

  “I wanted to bring Bethany in on this meeting mostly because she’ll be involved in about every meeting we’ll have. I’ve made no bones about the fact that she will be the facilitator, and the designer, of all operations from this moment on. If anyone has any objections to that, I suggest you pack up and haul ass. Anyone?”

  No one packed up, or hauled ass.

  “That’s what I thought. Okay, Morgan, I’d like you to start the meeting off by explaining to Bethany the situation?”

  Morgan didn’t bother to stand. She didn’t need to. Her elf-like voice had no problem commanding attention.

  “The Zombie Response Team’s mission statement is to protect and sever. We’ve mostly accomplished this by banding together to create the biggest enterprise of individuals ready to fight against the undead, as well as help to educate others. We have formed self contained pockets in all the major cities across the United States. The goal of each pocket is to begin rebuilding those cities and fortifying their defenses against the undead. So far the plan has worked – but not to the extent we’d like. We need a way to help survivors find us.”

  Jamal stood back up and interrupted Morgan.

  “This is where we think you could help Bethany. You picked up Zombie Radio where the original DJ left off. We have to assume some of his listeners stayed tuned in. If we can harness the power of that medium to guide people to the locations of the ZRT pockets, we think the cities would more easily rebuild.”

  The whole of the idea spun around the meat of my mind for a moment. By the time the synaptic dance was concluded, I had one major concern.

  “If we broadcast the locations of the ZRT teams, we run the risk of the Zero Day Collective locating and neutralizing them. It can’t work that way. It won’t work that way. To do this right, we’d have to go the opposite route and have the Response Teams go to the survivors.”

  Morgan and Joshua started to protest. I silenced them with a raised hand.

  “Hear me out first. We announce to listeners to raise a flag to indicate their location. The ZRT teams could then search them out and take them back to their respective cities. That way you eliminate the possibility of the Zero Day Collective locating and destroying each and every Response Team headquarters. It’ll take more time, but the end result will be far greater. I can make the announcement on Zombie Radio; inform everyone to raise a large white flag to let the teams know their whereabouts.”

  Everyone at the table took a moment to ponder the idea. There was only one objection, and a strong one at that. Morgan stood and addressed everyone at the table.

  “This plan would jeopardize every survivor. You have a bunch of white flags raised and the Zero Day Collective could drop bombs or even drop ships full of the undead.”

  Her concern sunk in – deep. She was right. Either way we risk the ZRT teams or the survivors. We were going about this all wrong. I closed my eyes to let all possible outcomes retract to a single point. From that single point, I could follow the path of each solution to see which route offered the most plausible success. It was little more than probability and statistics.

  “I use Zombie Radio as a ruse. Morgan, you and Josh contact all ZRT leaders and let them know they are to start searching out survivors and returning them to the safe zones. Not a word of this leaks out through any channel. I will pick up the broadcast on Zombie Radio that the ZRT headquarters have all been overrun with the undead. The teams will then start searching the cities to locate survivors. No flags, no welcome parties. Your men and women will have a harder time locating civilians, but eventually word of mouth will spread and the survivors will be more likely to show themselves. A simple lie, to draw the heat away from your teams.”

  I stared around the table. All eyes were upon me and all mouths were shut. It seemed my plan had legs. Morgan and Josh eventually agreed it was the best route and would contact their leaders to set everything in motion. As for my part, I just had to conjure up some serious acting chops to make the demise of the ZRT believable. On the off-chance the Zero Day Collective was listening in, I wanted to make sure they believed this like white trash on wrestling.

  “B… ” Jamal was still seated at the table. He had a very familiar look in his eyes. The man wanted something only I could give him.

  “I need your help.”

  Jamal and I had a pact; not one of those ‘If we’re both alone when we’re forty…” pacts. This was serious, and often led to deep, chocolaty trouble. In a nutshell, we never refused. If one of us needed a favor, that favor was always granted. That was actually how I wound up falling in love with the man so many years ago.

  Favors.

  God damn it.

  Jamal looked around the room, clearly nervous or paranoid. The door was standing open. He stood, crossed to the door, looked out, and then slowly sealed the outside world away from out little sanctuary. When Jamal sat back down, he took my hand in his.

  “You’re the only human being on this planet I trust. I brought all of these people into this place because I was certain of their loyalty. But…” His lip quivered. Jamal allowed doubt to creep into his mind. Jamal rarely allowed doubt an audience of his faculties. “I’m not sure any more. I’ve heard rumblings and seen suspicious things. B – I need you to check everyone out. Make sure no one under this roof has ties with the ZDC. I’d do it, but I’m not nearly as tied into this web as you are. You know things I don’t, so you could more quickly spot the red flags. I don’t want to lie to the world. If we are to offer salvation from this insanity, we do so honestly and without even the slightest threat that the Zero Day Collective is going to find us and pull the carpet out from under our feet.”

  I placed my free hand on Jamal’s cheek. The sincerity of the man broke my heart. He hadn’t changed a bit. Underneath the boy-genius exterior was the heart of the truest, most sincere man I’d ever known. Jamal was the incarnation of truth. Amplify him and his inner zombie would moan the truth. There would be no lie zombie lie from the mouth of that monster.

  “Of course. Set me up a work station and I’ll get to it.”

  Jamal smiled a wicked smile only I could decrypt. He had something for me, something big and juicy.

  “I have something to show you.”

  Jamal led me to another room. As soon as he opened the door, I knew immediately what the man had done.

  “Your very own broadcast studio. Soundproof and zombie proof. Once you’re in here, you can hop up on soapboxes as high as you like and no one will interrupt. You also have a fully networked and firewalled computer that has a point to point connection with my cluster – should you need the extra iron. Oh, and there’s a Linux box in there serving as a full-blown media server with over a terabyte of music on it. The Princess, nay, Queen of the airwaves may entertain her subjects to her heart’s content.”

  The wicked-evil grin that chased around Jamal’s chin and cheeks made me want to kiss him and kiss him hard. I refrained. Why? I had no idea.

  We both walked into the studio. I shut the door behind me so the frankness of my next question wouldn’t es
cape into the wild.

  “Why do you suspect foul play? What’s going on?”

  Jamal stopped in his tracks and continued looking away from me for a moment. When he finally spoke, his eyes remained elsewhere.

  “You won’t believe me B.”

  A strange pause danced around the room. The silence of the soundproofing was disconcerting enough to make my skin slink around the meat on my bones.

  “It’s the apocalypse, douchebyte, I’ll believe anything.”

  Again Jamal made with the pause.

  “I have no proof. All I have is gut instinct and my gut is telling me there’s a ghost in the machine.”

  Jamal knew I loved it when he dropped the Gilbert Rile description of Descarte’s Mind Body Dualism. Jamal was brilliant, even when he contradicted his Vulcan-like passion for truth and fact.

  I closed the gap between the two of us. “What would someone have to gain by being dishonest here… and now? It’s not like there’s profit to be made. And the only true power to be had is in survival.”

  When Jamal turned to me, the look on his face was a mixture of content and ill at ease. I wasn’t sure which projected emotion to latch onto.

  “I know it’s crazy Bethany, but there’s something not right. The reason why I want you to look into this is because you’re crazy brilliant and you’ll approach it with an objective mind. Do what you can to assuage this Pon Far raging within me.”

  “Ooooh, I always did love it when you spoke Vulcan to me. Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal – on one condition.”

  “Name your price Nitshimi.”

  I could have so milked this for all it was worth. I decided, however, to play nice.

  “If I come up with nothing, you have to trust me.”

  We hugged on it – and nearly kissed to seal the deal. The awkward moment led to an even more awkward departure of Jamal. I wanted to spend some time getting to know my new Bitch Cave. But before I got too comfy, I had to retrieve my babies – Jacob and my laptop.

  Chapter 21

  November 24, 2016 6:34 PM

  Zombie Response Team Headquarters: San Antonio, Texas

  San Antonio was the first to begin the fortification process. The idea to wall in the city was Morgan’s. The goal was to encircle the metropolitan area and exterminate any infected humans. Once the undead were cleared from within the city wall, those inside would be safe.

  In theory.

  The wall took nearly a year to build. It wasn’t pretty, but the barrier to entry offered more protection than staggered guards and barbed wire. The only problem with the wall was that it prevented survivors from gaining access to safety – unless they were brought in. That’s where Morgan’s plan came into place.

  “Sir, we have received word from commander Barnhart. We are to begin sweep and rescue missions, starting in concentric twenty-five mile radius circles. As we locate uninfected survivors we are to bring them into the city.”

  The Sergeant handed Commander Koenig the print out with Morgan’s communication. Koenig was thrilled to finally have orders that included a little action. To this point, most of what he did was plan the guard rotations and make sure the soldiers were getting sleep, food, and exercise. Every now and again a fight would break out or a small horde of zombies would attack the wall in vain. That was the extent of the excitement within New San A. So these new orders were a gift from God. Something to do.

  Koenig stood and pulled down his jacket to smooth the wrinkles. “Sergeant Walker, put together a group of men, arm them, and pack them off in two transports. I want them locked and loaded in thirty.”

  Walker spared no time in saluting and slipping out of the office. He had a list of men he created for just this purpose. The group was versatile and merciless. He called the men together and gave them their assignments. Koenig was part of the detail. No way was he going to miss out on the chance for a little action. Besides, the wall made him claustrophobic most days. He could use the escape, the distraction from monotony.

  *

  The twin transports sped through the gate just before it was lowered and locked. New San A took no chance. The cloud of dust kicked up by the transports veiled the city wall from the rear view mirrors. Thanks to the apocalypse, Texas winters were almost as hot as summers – minus the moisture.

  Planning a perfectly concentric route was nearly impossible, but the team navigation specialist did his best. He knew the empty transport had room for twenty-five to thirty people. They would drive until the transport was filled, turn back, deliver the survivors, and return to the last point of contact.

  Along the way, they would take out any hostiles necessary. Said hostiles appeared far sooner than they thought possible.

  “Samuel to Koenig. Undead activity spotted directly ahead. Your orders?”

  “Koenig to Samuel – engage undead immediately.”

  Lieutenant Samuel brought the transport to a stop one hundred yards from the cluster of zombies busy with a small group of survivors. As soon as he stepped out of the transport, the screams punched him in the gut. Zombie Response Team had a name for that – PARF (Post Apocalyptic Reaction Fatigue). The screams of dying humans filled the landscape. Just before the sound becomes innocuous, it begins to hurt like a stomach cramp. When it happened, all you could think of was puking out the pain and the sorrow.

  “Lock and load people!”

  Instantly the soldiers poured out of the lead transport, guns ready to unleash their fury. Like a choreographed ballet, the men spread out over the landscape and silently moved toward the target zone. Once the soldiers were within the kill zone, they would wait for the order and rain down second death on the undead.

  The moans and screams grew louder as the men drew closer. Trigger fingers were itchy to take down the bastard children of mankind.

  As a unit, the team reached the kill zone and dropped to the ground in order to get into position.

  But when scopes went to eyes, the scene immediately folded inside out, became a newer, uglier nightmare. What was going on went beyond description.

  “Sir, Lieutenant Samuel here. I… ” Samuel was unsure how best to describe the horror he witnessed. “These moaners… they’re just… Jesus Christ!”

  “What is it Lieutenant? SITREP now!” Command Koenig demanded.

  “Sir, the zombies are tearing the limbs off of the survivors and strapping the torsos to their backs.” The lieutenant knew his description did the horror before him no justice.

  “I don’t understand Samuel. Explain.”

  The lieutenant swallowed hard. “It’s like they’re wearing the armless and legless torsos as backpacks.”

  Static filled the radio before the Commander replied. “To what end?”

  “It’s not clear sir. Maybe they’re carrying them for food… I don’t know. It looks like we’ve lost all survivors. What are your orders?”

  A pause. The situation didn’t lend itself to pauses. Hesitation led only to desperation in this type of situation. What they needed was immediate and clear action.

  “Do not engage enemy. Return to transport immediately.”

  The Lieutenant couldn’t believe his ears. He thought it imperative to take out as many of the walking dead as possible. A single moaner or screamer was capable of spawning thousands more of its kind. That alone was reason enough to want to take out each and every member of the undead community.

  But orders were orders. And who was a lowly Lieutenant to question the orders of a venerated and decorated Commander.

  “Retreat! Now!” Samuel barked the order into his radio. Without question the men silently fell back from the site of horrors.

  As they ran back, Samuel could see the look of disbelief on the faces of the men close by. This was bound to happen. What some of the men failed to see was the importance of returning alive – and with survivors. Blasting away at a small pack of moaners might save a few lives, but it would, in the end, cause a ripple effect the small army wouldn’t be able to hand
le.

  Everyone knew sound attracted the undead.

  Unfortunately, enough sound had already been made. Before the men could reach the transport, the screech of screamers ripped through reality. The sound bounced off of every wall in the area. It was impossible to discern the source of the location.

  The small group of men huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, facing out in a small, tight circle. And as if the men were all connected to some collective consciousness, they all began slowly moving the circle clockwise. The lock-step, side-march was a hypnotic dance of death waiting to be performed for the perfect audience.

  A cloud of dusty mayhem rose in the distance. Like a small pack of Tasmanian devils, the whirling chaos grew closer, louder, and ever more deadly. Once the group of men spotted the source of the noise, the spinning circle broke and formed a line facing the oncoming hell spawn.

  One of the soldiers pulled a pair of long range binoculars out and immediately had the enemy in focus.

  “There are two of… fuck me sideways. This is not good.”

  “What is it Brinkman?” The commander ordered.

  “These aren’t ordinary screamers sir. They’re… sir, they’re wearing some kind of armor. What the fuck? Sir, these things look like they’re covered in bone.”

  As the group of soldiers tried to gain some semblance of coherence within the words the soldier spoke, the screamers came into view.

  Brinkman was dead on – the zombies skin had naturally evolved into a bone-like plating.

  A screech ripped everyone out of their lost mental anguish and back into reality.

  “Fuck this noise.” One of the soldiers hoisted his gun to this shoulder, held his breath to aim, and pulled the trigger.

  From the chest of the oncoming zombie came a puff of dust. The marksman hit his target, but the bullet bounced off the exoskeleton

  “Fall back. Fall back!” The commander shouted.

  Every member of the unit stood to run – minus the marksman. He chambered another bullet, aimed, held his breath, and pulled back the trigger. Another tiny puff of dust wafted in the wind. The action only served to piss of the zombie even more.