by Jack Wallen
Every man turned inward and begged for someone to offer up a quick out. There was none. They turned to flee to find a Boner standing at the end of the hall. The beast leaned forward and released a roar that threatened to strip the color from their flesh. When the thing had finished raging against the strangers, it stood up straight; the clack and rattle of its bones brought one of the teammates to his knees. José grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him back to his feet.
Again the beast raged.
Hawkeye Demmare stepped forward, his right hand rising with a pistol at the ready. Hawk earned his name from being both a crack shot and a M*A*S*H fanatic. When the group saw him draw his weapon, an unexpected calm overtook them.
The Boner lowered its hands and leaned forward. Before the monster managed to take its first step toward the team, Hawkeye ripped off a single silenced bullet. His aim was dead on and the shot pierced the veil of the zombie’s right eyeball. A quick splatter of thick, brown slop shot out and the mockery of evolution clattered and rattled to the floor.
Not a word was spoken. Everyone took in a slow, simultaneous breath and stood to continue their journey onward. José raised an arm to stop the group. He carefully continued to the next hall intersection and stopped. A quick look back at the crew and a single nod of his head drew the team together.
A momentary silence overtook the area. Just as José was about to signal the men on, two soft voices ignited the tension.
“What are we going to do?” the first voice asked.
“What can we do? As much as we try and deny it, we are nothing more than his puppets,” the second voice answered, growing louder.
José glanced at Hawkeye and nodded in the direction of the oncoming voices. The sharpshooter stepped to the head of the group and leveled his gun into the hallway intersection. When the two men came into view, the first thing they saw was the barrel of the overlarge semiautomatic pistol.
“On your knees,” said Hawkeye.
The two men complied.
José stepped out of the group and stood in front of the kneeling men.
“The baby. Where is he?”
Silence.
Hawkeye placed the unfeeling barrel of his weapon against the temple of the nearest man.
“Answer the man.” Hawkeye’s voice was cold.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the nearest man said.
“Yes, you do,” José said. “If you don’t answer me, I promise your brains will paint your buddy with a spectacular design.”
“Car six,” the second man confessed. “But you’ll never get to him. The inner sanctum of that car is guarded by every nightmare we could dream up.”
José nodded to another team member who pulled out two syringes and simultaneously drove the needles into the flesh of the men’s necks. Before the surprised look had dissipated from their faces, both men were sprawled across the hall floor.
“What car are we in?” José looked around for any sign of location.
“According to the map, we’re in nine. Six should be three cars that way.” The team’s scout pointed toward an exit.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”
It took mere minutes, and zero incidents, for the team to reach car six. The door to the car hushed open to allow a plague of noise to attack anyone within range. The soundtrack to the apocalypse greeted, threatened, and seduced fear from the hearts and guts of the men. Roars, screams, moans—every nightmarish sound the imagination could bring to life existed in that singular moment.
Weapons were swiftly drawn. Knives, guns, Taser…anything useful for undead hand-to-hand.
“José, can you see—”
Before the question was completed, a deafening screech tore through the air. Every weapon swiftly pointed in the direction of the joyless noise.
The walls rumbled. No one had a chance to react before the first of the zombies leaped through the open door and on top of Freddy “F-Bomb” Davis. Freddy shot his hands up and grabbed the Screamer’s head. The jaws of the monster clacked and chewed at the air in a desperate attempt to sink its rotting teeth into the flesh of the living.
José leveled his pistol at the monster’s occipital ridge. The bullet tore through bone and gray matter as if it were slipping through warm butter. The Screamer fell instantly silent and dropped to the ground.
“It’s go time, boys,” José shouted.
The team spilled into car six, where an undead menagerie awaited their arrival.
What greeted them wasn’t the standard zombie fare. Here were the rejects of evolution, the mistakes Mother Nature would never have allowed. Darwinian nightmares filled the tight room: Creatures with multiple mouths, misshapen heads and backs; beasts with oversized arms and undersized control.
In the center of the car stood a glass-wall cage housing a bassinet on a stainless steel pedestal.
Gunshots and unholy roars echoed off the surgical metallic walls of the car. A zombie with three arms and a bad case of cyclops-psycho stomped its way to the group, grabbed F-Bomb, lifted him over its head, and tore his body in half as if it were a baguette. The crunch of bone and tearing of flesh nearly sent the team packing for the door. Before Three Arm could turn his softball-sized eye onto another member of the team, every weapon took aim and fired. The beast did a wacky pop dance to the floor and went silent.
Before a single heart could repeat its own rhythm, another bastardization of humanity came at the group.
“Hold him off!” José shouted. “I’m going to grab the baby.”
The men stood their ground as the next malignant nightmare attacked. The creature was covered with festering sores, each of which oozed and dripped a stagnant brown paste. The repugnant smell brought tears to the eyes of the nearest fighters, blurring their vision and their aim.
José cozied up to the perimeter of the room until he was out of eyesight of the beast. Once clear, he stepped near the glass cage. Instinctively, he scanned the glass walls for traps and alarms. Nothing.
“Where is the goddamn door?” he whispered.
The walls were without seams. There was no apparent way in or out. Only one possible route to success presented itself. José pulled out his pistol and aimed for one of the lower corners of the enclosure. It was a huge risk; glass could rain down upon the baby, slicing and dicing the child into its grave.
A collection of roars and screams gave the team leader every incentive he needed to pull the trigger.
“What the—?”
The bullet embedded itself into the wall. There was no shower of shards, no crackle of glass, just a click and a thump. José took aim again and released another round. This time a spiderweb crack appeared around the second bullet. After six more shots, the integrity of the lower portion of the wall gave way enough to open up enough of a gap for the leader to crawl into the room.
As the war continued on around him, José cleared the crawlspace and pulled his way inside. Within the glass walls, the sound of the raging battle was somewhat muted.
“Hello there, little guy.” José‘s voice was soft and melodic. “I’m going to get you back to your mommy. Does that sound good?”
The fragile baby was all smiles and the biggest, brownest eyes possible. A head full of bright red hair spilled down from his head.
The temptation to pull an Indiana Jones maneuver and slip something in place of the baby and bassinet was great. It was possible there was an alarm on the pedestal; after all, the value of the child was immeasurable.
José had nothing of significant value…not even a hat. Instead of going Indy on the baby, he simply snatched him up, slipped the baby through the hole, and pulled himself back into the real world.
When the leader of the Zombie Response Team unit returned to the exit of car six, it was to find every man on his team shredded and spattered across the floor and the walls. There was no sign of the undead attacker.
José sucked in a tense breath and steeled his will against the sight and sm
ell of death.
“Come on, Jacob, we have to get out of here.”
chapter 28 | in sheep’s clothing
With the Guignol Gang fully armed and prepared to defend the castle, we were off to see the Wizard of Odd. I decided against leaving anyone behind. The idea that thousands of living humans were to be collected in one location, and making enough noise to raise the undead, had my personal paranoia in full swing. We didn’t have the luxury of a full-blown army at our disposal, so our little battalion would have to do.
We were armed to the point of ridiculous, everyone prepared to lay waste to the horde. In the process, hopefully, the puppet masters themselves would make an appearance and fall to our collective blade.
“Anyone else feel like we should have a soundtrack playing behind us?” Rizzo smirked. “If this were a film, we’d be walking in slow motion to a Daft Punk tune. Life would be so much better with a good soundtrack.”
She was right…though I might have a different song playing in the background at the moment, something that would inspire me to climb the wall without my arms feeling like they might erupt into flames.
“‘Hot for Teacher,’” Jamal snickered. He glanced around at us, as if he’d been caught with his hand in a rather naughty cookie jar. “Did I say that out loud? I meant, that’s the song I’d have playing at this moment.”
“Care to explain why?” I asked.
“Not really.” Jamal blushed.
We hit the wall, a few of us laughing under our breath. The moment was like a dream—or the precursor to a nightmare. There was no way to know what we were about to walk into, so a bit of levity was probably the one thing keeping us all from realizing that what was going down would most likely drive us all mad.
“Will someone tell me why we haven’t bothered to construct some sort of ladder for this wall? Or maybe find an opening?” Echo called out.
“The harder it is to get out, the harder it is to get in.” Morgan broke her silent concentration.
“Okay, that I can buy.”
Somehow, Echo found an untapped store of energy and sped up the remainder of the wall.
“Holy crap!” she exclaimed. “You’re not going to believe this.”
When I pulled myself to the top, I nearly lost the remainder of my wind. “Oh my God.”
One by one, we all reached the top and gasped at the sight.
Josh was the last to finish the climb. “There must be thousands of people over there.”
“Tens of thousands,” Jamal added.
“This is not good. This is so not good.” I led the charge down the other side of the wall after making my statement.
Once we were all on the ground, I started for the Hummer, but stopped myself short.
“We have to walk.”
Everyone stared at me like I’d sprouted the cloned head of Taylor Swift on my shoulder and was about to chew my way through an army of boyfriends.
“That truck cannot go missing. We leave it here it remains safe. We drive it over there and we’ll never see it again. We need that metallic behemoth.”
Their eyes continued to glare.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t take the risk. The Hummer remains and we walk.”
One by one, the gang accepted their walking fate. Fortunately the distance wasn’t too great, so there would be energy left for the inevitable fight.
We were all paranoid. With every sound, heads snapped to the right and left. At one point Jamal glanced back at me and raised his eyebrows. Somehow I managed to pick up his message without further prodding. A few yards ahead of us lay the remains of the human picnic Jamal and I had crushed. There was no reason to let anyone lay eyes on my mess. The less questioned, the more left unanswered…and I had no desire or reason to explain the scene that awaited us if we stayed on our current course. Instead, I led the group away from the carnage. The sidetrack would add a small fraction of time to our trip…it was absolutely worth it.
“Bethany,” Rizzo called out. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Not fifty yards away was a lone man, stumbling forward in a black trench coat.
“If you’re seeing a guy in a coat, then yes, I am seeing the same thing. What’s so strange about that? There are thousands upon thousands of people heading toward that central location.”
“Okay, first the guy isn’t walking, he’s stumbling. Second, why is he wearing a freaking trench coat in the desert?”
She had a point…a very good point.
Without warning I took off at a sprint, waving my arms and offering up a shout to the gods.
“Hey, you! Stop!”
My cries went unanswered; the man continued stumbling forward.
And then it hit me—the stumbling, the immunity to the heat.
“Fuck,” I whispered, out of breath.
The group finally caught up with me, and Morgan and Rizzo slipped their arms around my waist and torso, pulling me in tight.
“He must be a zombie. There’s no other explanation.”
And just like that, the man turned around and spotted us; the look of recognition on his face gave him away.
“Fucker’s not a zombie!” I shouted. “Come on!”
The second I started off, the man turned and ran. The entire scene devolved into the realm of the mad. A man in the desert running from possible salvation. There was no explanation. He stumbled. As he fell to his knees I kicked up my pace and finally reached him.
“Why are you running from us? Are you infected?”
The stranger held up his arms and shook his head. There was something oddly misshapen about him; he was too thick, too barrel-chested.
“Who are you?”
He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears.
“My name is Reverend Robert Moore,” he said. Slowly, he got to his feet on unsteady legs. “I have been chosen.”
“Chosen? For what?” The question left my lips as Morgan and Jamal arrived.
“What’s going on?” Jamal asked.
I held up my hand for silence.
“What have you been chosen for?”
Reverend Moore glanced upward and then shielded his eyes from the blazing glow of the exposed sun.
“God has reached his hand of glory toward me and asked of me my aid in delivering the reckoning to man.”
“What reckoning?”
Moore glared at me, hard. “The reckoning of the holy spirit to answer for the collective sins man has visited upon the grace of God. This”—Moore spread his hands wide—“is what the human race has done to the gifts we have been given. We’ve unleashed a devil in the name of vanity, greed, and lust. And when the chosen few beg of man to heal the rot that plagues our soul, we are mocked, shunned, and slain.”
The reverend stepped forward. I stood in his path.
“You cannot stop me. I am righteousness and glory; the pale horse I ride upon will crush you should you remain in its path. Step aside or you die.”
With that, Reverend Robert Moore pulled open his jacket to reveal a suicide bomber’s vest covered in C4.
“Son of a bitch,” Morgan called out. “There’s enough explosives attached to him to level a city block…fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Like the proverbial lightbulb going off over his head, the man’s plan was revealed. I looked at Moore and allowed my gaze to follow his path.
“The concert,” I stepped in close. “You were going to bomb—”
“Should I call you Sherlock?” Moore interrupted. “A cesspool of depravity is collecting less than a mile away. It is my holy duty to see to it those Godless bastards never mock the spirit of the Lord again.”
Before I could say another word, Morgan stepped in and slammed her fist into the man’s jaw. The punch dropped him to his knees, in time for Rizzo, Echo, and Josh to arrive.
“Bitch,” Moore spat, “you’ll regret that.”
Morgan looked up at Josh. “Grab his arms.”
Josh complied, gra
bbed a wrist in each hand, and spread the man’s arms wide. Moore’s strength was no match.
Morgan pulled out a knife, the steel of the blade glinting in the sun.
“My death will only serve—”
“I’m not going to waste my energy killing you.”
The blade of Morgan’s knife sliced through the fabric of the jacket and then through the shoulder straps of the vest.
“I’ve seen this vest design before. It’s simple to remove and disarm.”
In a few quick minutes, Morgan had the vest off the man and on the ground. Before she took her knife to the wiring harness, I stopped her.
“Wait, Morgan. Is it possible we could use that as a weapon?”
Morgan turned to me, her left eyebrow raised high.
“This baby is a one-way ticket. You don’t control it; it controls you. If you plan on detonating a bomb like this, you better have plenty of room. The explosion would be huge and not even slightly discerning.”
“We need every advantage we can get. Keep it intact. Even if we don’t use it now, we can use it later. Having that much explosive on hand couldn’t hurt.”
Morgan nodded. “That’s all fine, but I’m disarming it anyway. We don’t want to be walking around with this much C4 that could accidentally go off and turn us all into a blood-and-chum slushy.”
She had a point. I nodded. She went to work.
“What do we do about this guy?” Jamal pointed to Robert.
“That’s a damn good question,” Josh stated, as he dropped the reverend’s arms. The man rubbed his shoulders as he scrambled away from Josh.
I stepped between Josh and Moore. “We don’t have time for this. We have to get to that stage before the show begins. Those people have a target on their backs only we can defend. Let the son of a bitch rot for all I care.”
“She’s right,” Morgan chimed in. “Josh, frisk him before we leave.”
Josh wasted no time jerking the man to a standing position and patting him down. The reverend’s protests were quickly silenced when Josh tightened his fist and clenched his jaw.
As we walked away, the reverend preached of sin, salvation, and hypocrisy. All I could do was laugh.
