I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Without another word, Echo vanished from the room.

  I turned my attention to Jamal. “We’re going back to retrieve whatever we need to disable the transmitter in Jacob.”

  “What about the Thelemite?” Jamal asked.

  I hadn’t considered the idea that I could be sending two innocents into a battlefield.

  “We’ll compile that code,” I started.

  “Before it ships,” Jamal answered─yet another inside joke from school. “Why can’t we just say We’ll cross that bridge? It’s a universal that everyone gets.”

  “You answered your own question,” I said with a wink.

  “Bethany Nitshimi…you’re good. No wonder I fell in love with you.”

  five | retrieve the package

  Baltimore, MD. Zombie Response Team Headquarters

  “We have the location of the package,” Rondo barked at the gathered team. “This is a simple collect and deliver. Priority is Alpha, so failure is not an option. Is that clear?”

  The team affirmed with a shout.

  “Load and roll, people. We need boots on the ground in thirty.”

  Without another word, the Zombie Response Team soldiers had weapons in hand and were boarding a converted school bus. Gone was the bright yellow paint─in its place, camouflage…the universal color scheme of war. Once the last of the soldiers were on board, Rondo took his place at shotgun and nodded for the driver to pull out.

  “So what’s the package?” The question was lofted from the rear of the bus by Manolo.

  Rondo turned to the seated soldiers and pursed his lips.

  “That’s classified,” half of the bus shouted.

  The sergeant shook his head and addressed the team. “The package is Richard Gerrand. We are to expedite his delivery to Bethany Nitshimi.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rusty Peart, one of the oldest members of the unit, said under his breath.

  “So this is a one-way ticket to the deathsville, right Sarge?”

  Rondo picked out the speaker and addressed him. “Jarvis, the only way this winds up being a one-way is if you fail to do your job. Do you plan on failing this unit? If so, tell me now and I will replace you with a goddamn dildo. If we’re going to get fucked over by something, at least we can enjoy it that way.”

  A riot of laughter filled the bus. Jarvis tossed a pair of middle fingers into the air. Manolo stood and shouted, “Is that a threat, tuna can?”

  The soldiers reacted with encouragement. Jarvis turned to Manolo and blew her a kiss.

  Rondo shook his head. “Get it out of your systems now. When we reach our destination, it’s all fucking business.”

  “Sarge,” Rusty shouted. “Who is this douche we’re babysitting all the way to New Salt Lake City?”

  “The man who’s going to cure the world of all that ails it.”

  Jarvis stood out of his seat. “You mean there’s a fucking cure?” The bus hit a pothole. Jarvis bounced on the floor and smacked his bald head against the ceiling. In a fit of anger, he punched upwards and dented the thick metal.

  “I’ve told you everything I know. We’re just in charge of getting the man from point A to point B. What happens after that is none of our business.”

  “Like hell it isn’t,” hissed Manolo. “How do we know this isn’t a fucking trap?”

  Rondo snapped to standing and turned sharply. “Because we were ordered by the founder of the Zombie Response Team, who happens to work side by side with Bethany Nitshimi. Last I remember, that particular civilian was at the very fucking top of the food chain. If we fail her, we fail everyone. So can it with the questions and concentrate on prepping for battle. We have no idea what we’ll run into between Maryland and Utah.”

  Groans filled the bus.

  “That’s right,” Rondo replied, “we’re driving all the way to Utah. So get comfy with one another…it’s going to be a hell of a long drive once we have the package in hand.”

  *

  When the bus turned onto the destination street, all levity ceased.

  “Look at ‘em all,” whispered Manolo.

  The road was filled, shoulder to shoulder, with the undead.

  Rondo leaned into the driver. “There’s no way we can reach the address.”

  The driver stopped the vehicle and leaned back in his seat, thinking. “We can drive down the block and see if maybe they’re only collecting on this end of the street?”

  Rondo shook his head. “The less outside attention we can draw to ourselves, the better. We need to make sure this bus remains intact. We have to keep the upper hand, rely on the element of surprise…as much as possible.”

  The driver nodded. “How hard would it be going roof to roof?”

  Rondo gave the idea some thought and finally said, “Too much distance and we don’t have enough rope.” Without warning, Rondo stood and turned to face the soldiers. “Henshuh,” he barked. “Rifles out! Attach bayonets! When you’re ready, drop your windows and stick Mr. Pointy out the window at neck height and lock it in place. We’ve gone over this drill before, you know what to do. We’re going to clothesline some zombies.”

  Manolo squealed. “Fuck yeah!”

  Rusty guffawed. “You sure you don’t gotta dick, Manolo?”

  “Bigger than yours, Crusty.”

  One by one, the bayonets were thrust out the window and the locking mechanisms flipped over. Once every soldier had their weapon ready, Rondo patted the driver on the shoulder, indicating for him to floor the gas. The transport vehicle lurched forward and quickly picked up speed.

  The initial hit shook the soldiers hard.

  “Keep those weapons in hand, boy scouts,” Rondo ordered.

  Once the bus had managed to force its way into the crowd, the bayonets struck home. One after another, zombie heads and various chunks of flesh and meat were torn from fetid, rotting bodies. The remains of the dark day splashed up onto and through the windows. Soldiers wiped at their faces to clear away the blood and offal.

  One by one, the Moaners dropped.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Rusty whooped with a misplaced glee.

  Jarvis shouted out, “This calls for a little Judas Priest.”

  As the bayonets made short work of sending the zombies to their final grave, the soldiers sang their best rendition of “Some Heads Are Gonna Roll”.

  The driver put the bus in reverse. Every soldier predicted the move and flipped their weapons so the blades faced the rear of the bus.

  After the second pass, the street was clear of the standing undead. Underneath the tires of the bus, death flowed in scarlets and browns. The vehicle moved slowly forward. Bones crunched under the weight of the wheels, the pop and crack rising above the din of celebration.

  Rondo pointed. “There it is.”

  The driver stopped. Rondo stood and called out, “Lock and load, bitches.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” Manolo shouted as she slapped the magazine into her rifle. “Thrill to kill.”

  “You are one fucked up lesbian, Manolo,” taunted Rusty.

  “Only because I did your mom last night,” Manolo returned the jab.

  Rondo stood and faced the soldiers. “Enough. The second you step off this bus, it’s business only. You fuck this mission up, I will leave each and every one of you behind to fend for yourselves. Moral of the story?”

  “Put up, don’t fuck up,” the soldiers shouted in military unison.

  “Rusty, I want you to take point. Jarvis, you’re the ass end of this human centipede. Can you eat that shit without pissing your pants?”

  Jarvis grinned and nodded. “Hell, yeah, I can. Just show me the target and I will lay it down straight on its ass.”

  “Dickweed. We’re not laying anything down straight; what we are doing is saving this man, who will, in turn, save us. Is that clear?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” the soldiers barked back.

  Rondo pointed at Manolo. “You and I are going to rescue us a scienti
st. You up for the job, Manolo?”

  “Sir, fuck yeah, sir!”

  “Atta boy.” Rondo returned his attention to the other Zombie Response Team soldiers. “You have one job and one job only. Cover our backs. This mission is only successful if we leave this massive attack with Dr. Richard Gerrand in tow and alive. If the man dies, we fail. We fail…I don’t think I need to explain the catastrophic nature of such consequences, do I?”

  “Sir, no, sir!” the soldiers replied in unison.

  The bus came to a halt in front of the target address. Rondo nodded to Manolo. She stood and sharply nodded back.

  “You ready for this?”

  Manolo’s lips let slip a wide grin. “I have born ready tattooed above my ass, sir. What do you think?”

  “I think I wanna see that some day.”

  Rondo turned back to the soldiers. “Let’s take this hayride up to one hundred miles an hour.” He gave a thumbs up to the driver.

  The bus driver swung the door open and nodded. “Good luck, sir.”

  As Rondo stepped toward the exit, he glanced at the driver and said, “I don’t believe in luck.”

  Outside the bus, silence ruled. Not a single Moaner made itself known.

  Manolo stood next to Rondo and whispered, “This is…”

  Rondo held up his hand to stop the flow of noise from his partner. He gestured for her to follow and then took off at a sprint to the door. With a quick glance through a window, he grabbed the handle and turned.

  “Locked.”

  Without a word, Manolo slipped between Rondo and the door and reached into her pack. Rondo started to complain until he spied the lock picks in the woman’s grip.

  Like a seasoned professional, Manolo worked at the lock and, within seconds, the door swung open on squeaky, horror-inspired hinges. Rondo motioned for Manolo to give quarter so he could enter.

  He stepped into the house with caution, his combat-booted feet contacting the aged wooden floor with the stealth and grace of a cat. As soon as he heard Manolo enter and shut the door behind them, he called out, “Dr. Gerrand? My name is Rondo Wells. I’m with the Zombie Response Team.”

  Before Rondo could speak another word, a gun appeared from behind a riser in the main staircase. “Why are you here?” a voice with a heavy British accent responded.

  Rondo stopped and slowly raised his hands. “Doctor Gerrand, I presume?”

  The man nodded.

  Rondo continued. “We’ve been tasked to escort you to Bethany Nitshimi.”

  “How do I know you can be trusted?” the disembodied voice called out.

  “I’m going to reach into my pocket and retrieve a mobile phone. I can call my leader and she can have Bethany verify the intel herself.”

  “Do it.”

  Rondo tapped the speed dial for Morgan’s number. After four rings, she answered. “Morgan, this is Rondo. Yes, I am with the package. He needs verification. Can you put Bethany on the phone?”

  Rondo tapped the speaker phone button and turned the device to face the stairs. After a moment, Bethany’s voice rang out from the tinny speaker. “Doctor? It’s me, Bethany. The Zombie Radio DJ is responsible for connecting us. We want to bring you to our location so you can continue your work. Is that acceptable?”

  The question was met with silence.

  “Doctor?” Bethany called out.

  “How do I know you’re really Bethany?”

  “You’ve heard my voice on the radio. You know it’s me.”

  Another silence─this one over-long and heavy.

  The barrel of the gun disappeared. Another door squeaked its way open.

  A haggard and bone-thin male stepped out from a hidden passage in the stairs. In his hands, he carried an aluminum briefcase. The case was handcuffed to his right wrist.

  Rondo offered a curt nod to the doctor. “Do you have everything necessary?”

  Gerrand nodded once.

  “Check our six.”

  Manolo turned and peered through the small glass window in the center of the door. “Clear, sir. Looks like our men have the area cleaned and preened.”

  Rondo gestured for Gerrand to move out. “After you, doctor. Asses and elbows, Manolo.”

  Without hesitation, Manolo whipped the door open and sprinted off toward the bus. Gerrand failed miserably to keep up, his gait slow and awkward.

  Rondo caught up to the doctor. “Do I need to carry you, Gerrand?”

  “No. I’m just weak. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

  “We can help you with that.”

  The thought of possible sustenance lit a fire under Gerrand’s heels. He reached the bus, but before he entered, a pale arm reached from underneath and jerked hard. Gerrand fell backward, into Rondo. Both men dropped.

  Rondo scrambled for his weapon. “Son of a bitch.”

  The Moaner rose from under the bus. Sour milk eyes glared and blood-stained teeth gnashed. The zombie pulled at Gerrand, opened its maw, and clamped down on the doctor’s leg. As the beast drew in for a second taste, Rondo sent a bullet through its brain.

  Rondo pulled Gerrand to his feet. “Manolo, get me a tourniquet now. We’re going to have to amputate this man’s leg to avoid the spread of the infection.”

  Gerrand strained against the burning pain of the wound. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Like hell it won’t. We have orders to get you to Nitshimi at all costs. I don’t think that means as one of the undead.”

  Gerrand turned to Rondo, the muscles of his face relaxing. “It won’t be necessary because I’m immune to the effects of the virus.”

  Rondo fell silent, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

  Manolo shot out of the bus, tourniquet in hand.

  Gerrand shook his head when he caught sight of amputation kit. “As I said, that won’t be necessary. It is why you are transporting me to Bethany.” Gerrand patted the aluminum case. “Within this metaphoric Schrödinger’s case is both cure and weapon.”

  Rondo nodded as the doctor’s words registered. Light found his eyes as his chest swelled with hope. “Cure? You said…cure?”

  “I did, indeed.”

  “And weapon?” Rondo added.

  Gerrand nodded.

  “We’re rollin’ in sixty,” Rondo shouted.

  One by one, the Zombie Response Team returned to the bus and entered. Once everyone was seated, Rondo looked them over and shouted, “Now that’s what I call a surgical motherfuckin’ success!”

  The soldiers replied with a hoorah.

  Gerrand stood in the aisle of the bus, clutching the briefcase to his chest. His sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks made him look skeletal. He said not a word, just stared forward, his chest rising and falling in a heartbreaking rhythm.

  Rondo looked over his soldiers and back to Gerrand. “This man needs rations. Who’s buying?”

  Rusty shot his hand in the air and snatched his pack from the overhead storage. “Sir, I just happen to have brought extra rations.”

  Rondo nodded. “Good for you, pretty boy. Hand the man a meal.”

  Rusty pulled a ration pack from his bag and offered it to Gerrand. The doctor reacted by stumbling backward.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rondo barked. “We’re on your team, doctor. You can trust this man…he’s just offering you a bite to eat.”

  Manolo shot up and grabbed the ration from Rusty. “Fucking King Kong’d be afraid of this goon.” She stepped forward and offered the pack to Gerrand. “Here, you look like you need a sandwich or two. Instead, we offer you this bag of crap rolled in Panko flakes. But it’ll do the trick until we can get you to Bethany.”

  Hesitantly, Gerrand released the death grip on his case and grabbed the ration from Manolo. With yellowed teeth, he tore the ration open and awkwardly squeezed the contents into his mouth. He didn’t stop. Within seconds, the ration was emptied.

  Gerrand wept. “I never thought I’d see another living human…or eat a tastier paste.”

  six | the four ho
rsemen

  Faddig relished every moment spent in the heart of the ZDC death train. Command central. Monitors stood sentinel on every vertical space─each displaying a different train car or locale across the spans of the United States of Chaos. He spread his arms and grinned madly. “This desert is my prophet. I will end lives by the minute.”

  A tactical specialist turned to face Faddig. “Sir, the drop-off vector is now within range. We can release the Cradle.”

  Faddig took in a deep breath and found peace stirring within his lungs. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth. The Earth was formless and void and darkness was over the surface of the deep. Genesis…from death comes life and from life comes death. I am the maker, master, and destroyer. I am God. I am devil. I am man, woman, child…monster.”

  The commander of the ZDC grabbed a radio, pressed the talk button, and shouted with a psychopathic abandon. “Release the Cradle!”

  Brakes set hard against the iron wheels of the rolling beast. The train stuttered and slowed. With a violent tremor, the rolling headquarters came to a stop.

  A thunderous crash resonated through every car of the train. On the bank of video monitors, a scene straight out of George A. Romero’s nightmarish spank bank unfolded. One by one, the Cradled zombies walked down a ramp and onto solid ground. As the converted members of the undead stood and swayed, another forced its way through the thick-as-thieves crowd. The second Faddig spotted the new player, he pointed, a wide grin slathered across his face.

  “Subject 001,” Faddig whispered.

  The zombie made it through the pack and turned to face the train. The creature’s hand rose and offered a salute to anyone watching. Everyone knew the salute could only be meant for one man.

  One of the men in the control center reacted by speaking up. “Commander Faddig, what is that thing?”

  Faddig smiled and replied, “A bit of insurance. That, my friends, is Subject 001…our hammer held high that will force everyone under Nitshimi’s control to understand that all flesh is equal when burnt.”

  Subject 001 tapped his right ear and spoke. His unison chorus of voices broke the silence in the command room, sending the mind of every rookie member of the ZDC crawling back into womb.