I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Morgan fired a shot into the air. “Who are you?”

  Her question was answered with laughter from more than one location. She holstered her pistol, pulled out her bow, and nocked an arrow.

  The voice returned. “You’ve invaded our playground, sullied our world with your moral high ground and rules. The apocalypse freed our species from the necktie and noose of human restraint. We are free to do as we please.”

  “Do what thou wilt,” voices from around the square cried out.

  “Shall be the whole of the law,” the original voice finished. “Chaos is our new lord and master. If you are unwilling to open your eyes to the new reality, you are our enemy and must be wiped from the slate. Before you make your choice, know that we are many and your small army would never stand a chance.”

  Before the disembodied voice could finish, Morgan let loose an arrow into the wind. A muffled cry rang out and a body dropped from a nearby roof.

  “An eye for an eye,” the voice rang out. “I like that. Unfortunately, if you believe that show of force will serve to frighten us or move us to surrender…I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken. My children are a force of nature that cannot be stopped. Each and every one of them is willing to die for our cause.”

  Morgan nocked another arrow. “Which is?”

  “The truest and final freedom,” the voice answered.

  The sound of scrambling feet rose and quickly faded to silence. Dread snaked through my system. Something wasn’t right.

  And then I saw it.

  Underneath the burning platform, the spark of ignition.

  I screamed at Morgan and Josh. “Run. Now.”

  Without hesitation, both sprinted away from the square and past me. I gave chase. We managed to place fifty yards behind us before the blast ripped through the area. My ears filled with a piercing tinnitus. The force of the explosion slammed me into the ground. Adrenaline flooded my system, so there was no way to know if anything was broken or severely injured. I tried to take a quick inventory, but every muscle was numb. I pushed myself up to see Morgan and Josh moving. I called out. Instead of my voice, I could only hear a muffled, buzzing tone. Morgan rose; her mouth moved, but the only sound was an Obliterator-like chorus of noise. I shook my head and pointed to my ears. Both she and Josh returned the gesture.

  I stood on wobbly legs and made my way to their side. I gestured back the way we had come. Morgan nodded, found her bow, and we made our escape.

  After a few blocks, the ringing subsided.

  Morgan shouldered her bow and pulled out the pistol. “We walked into a goddamn trap. They used our men as bait.”

  I could sense where this was going.

  “They die,” Morgan finished.

  There was no arguing with the sentiment. As long as the Thelemites existed, safety was not guaranteed. Even so, I wanted to point out that a war might not be the best idea.

  Morgan’s mood, however, was best not trifled with at the moment.

  “What do you suggest we do?” I asked carefully.

  “Return to HQ and prepare for retaliation.”

  sixteen | die and rise again

  Faddig sat up from the table, his head spinning and his ears ringing. “Report,” he said slowly.

  Dr. Brandt checked the readout on the monitor. “The infusion was successful. Jacob’s blood did not reject yours. The Cradle should be…complete.”

  Faddig grabbed Brandt by the collar of his lab coat and pulled him in tight. “I cannot accept should. The Cradle either will or will not work. Should it fail, yours will be the next body used for testing. Is that clear?”

  Dr. Brandt nodded nervously.

  “A new group of subjects will be arriving soon. I want this ready now. This might be our last chance.”

  The doctor nodded with bulging eyes and pinched lips.

  The intercom chimed and a voice called out, “Commander Faddig to communications, please. Commander Faddig to communications.”

  “What now?” Faddig huffed. He stomped to the door and turned back. “When I return, you better have something positive to report.”

  Faddig left the room without receiving a reply. The echo of each footfall rebounded sharply off the walls. When he reached communications, he jerked the door open and marched inside.

  “What is so fucking important…”

  Before Faddig finished his question, an officer stood and interrupted. “We’ve located Gerrand, sir. We await your orders.”

  Faddig glanced at the massive monitor on the far wall. On the display, a red dot moved across an interactive map of the United States.

  “Awaiting your orders, sir.”

  Faddig continued staring. He’d already been given orders to send Gerrand to the Horsemen. He knew that to be the wrong play. Instead of complying, he posted his own commands. “Deploy a single vehicle to follow them. Order them not to shoot or engage in any way…just follow. I have a feeling Gerrand will lead us to Bethany.”

  Upon confirmation of the order, Faddig exited the room and returned to his office. He dropped heavily into his desk chair. Flop sweat splashed down on the desktop blotter, the tiny dots seeping into Rorschachian doodles.

  “What the fuck do I do?” Faddig whispered. His fingers drifted onto the computer keyboard and called up the video chat application. The cursor hovered over the icon for the Horsemen. “To hell with you,” Faddig hissed, and slammed the laptop lid shut. “You’ve retained me at arm’s length so far…how does it feel?”

  Faddig opened a lower desk drawer, retrieved a SAT phone, and dialed the direct line for the dispatch officer. When the officer answered, Faddig barked, “Connect me with the driver of the unit chasing Gerrand immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer replied.

  The phone clicked five times before another male soldier answered. “This is Brinks.”

  Faddig inhaled a slow, calming breath. “This is Commander Faddig.”

  “Sir,” was the only reply.

  “I want to impart upon you how crucial this mission is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are to locate Gerrand’s transport, follow them to their destination, and report directly back to me with the coordinates. Is that clear?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Understand this, Brinks: if you lose track of Gerrand, do not return to me, or I will infect you with a mutated strain of the virus that will twist your DNA so badly, you’ll not be recognizable. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The second you have news, call my SAT phone to report. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without saying goodbye, Faddig ended the call. He couldn’t take a chance on the Horsemen or the Zero Day Collective monitoring his communication. Should they find out he’d directly disobeyed their orders, the Horsemen would unleash heretofore unknown horrors upon him.

  His thinly-stretched nerves had him jumpy enough to nearly lose his wits when the delicate chime of the phone on his desk called out. With rage fueling his grip, he grabbed the receiver and growled. “What is it?”

  “This is officer Blalock, sir. The first shipments of Pures have arrived.”

  Faddig disconnected.

  “Pures,” he whispered. “So that’s what we’re calling them now?” Faddig slammed his hand down hard enough to crack the phone’s receiver. He stood and unleashed his fury by overturning his desk. Laptop, phone, blotter…everything spilled about, crashing down to the floor. “What are we doing?” Faddig shouted loud enough that his voice reverberated off every metal surface.

  As quickly as the fury rose, it subsided. He straightened his tie and smoothed out his Oxford. Something wet and warm splashed down on his hand.

  Blood. Darkish red-brown.

  Faddig snapped his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped away the stain. He stepped out of the office and marched his way to a car labeled “Infection: Phase 1.” As soon as he faced the door to Infection, he placed his hand on the entry
pad. The door chimed and hissed open.

  A young female technician was busy with a clipboard, staring through an inch- thick Plexiglass window of a sealed holding pen. Through a monitoring speaker, the sounds of angry protests rose from the cell. The young woman neglected to see Faddig step into the room. She slammed her hand against the window at the raging inmates. Every head turned. Every pair of eyes burned with hatred, as if in the looking, the technician would go up in flames.

  “How many?”

  The technician jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned to see Faddig standing in the entryway and immediately snapped her knees locked to attention. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have a head count yet.”

  Faddig eased forward. “No matter. This will be the first of many deliveries. We must amass an army for the Cradle to succeed.”

  “Sir, if I may ask─” the technician started.

  “No…you may not.” Faddig faced the window. “Initiate the protocol.”

  Without question, the technician rushed to a console and tapped out commands. The lights within the holding cell grew dim, replaced by a soft, red glow. Screams rattled the walls. Every man and woman rushed the window and landed blow after blow onto the unyielding barrier.

  A hiss was quickly followed by streams of pale-green gas flowing from each corner of the room. The screams rose in pitch and fury.

  When the first of the captives dropped, those standing began throwing their full weight into the window.

  To no avail.

  The window refused to give quarter.

  One by one, the civilians collapsed until the room was nothing more than a macabre still life.

  The technician picked up a phone, dialed, and said, “Begin Cradle phase two now.”

  A door on the opposite end of the holding cell hissed open. Like a scene from a Ridley Scott film, two men in protective hazmat suits entered. The first man approached a wall and tapped out a key combination. The wall slid effortlessly to the side. From the hidden compartment, the man pulled a squid-like apparatus with myriad hospital-grade tubes ending in surgical steel, sterilized IV needles.

  While the first space-suit-sporting technician prepped the dosing arm, the second arranged the civilians in such a way that they were within reach of the needles.

  One by one, the technicians inserted a single needle into a life-giving vein of each man and woman lying on the floor. With the precision of highly trained nurses, the technicians had the lines ready to receive without blunder or bumble.

  The first of the technicians turned to the window and offered a succinct thumbs up. The female technician standing next to Faddig nodded. The two males exited the room and sealed the door with a hiss.

  “We’re ready, Commander,” the technician informed Faddig.

  “May I do the honors?”

  The nurse nodded and directed Faddig to the console. She gestured toward the keyboard. “The command is already typed. All you have to do is press the Enter key.”

  Faddig nodded. “From Hell’s heart, I stab at thee.”

  His right index finger slowly pressed down on the key. “The click from this keyboard signals the single greatest evolutionary movement mankind could have ever dreamed of inciting. We are the bearers of salvation from the rot and infestation that is man. We are Father Time, Mother Nature, and the God of Thunder.”

  Through each tube that stretched between squid and civilian, thick red-brown liquid flowed.

  Faddig repeated his new world mantra for the undead. “Anyone who eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him.”

  The bodies remained motionless on the floor as the squid continued to dose the suckling veins.

  “Dosing complete in three, two, one.”

  As soon as the female technician completed her countdown, the liquid ceased to flow. She grabbed the receiver from the cradle and dialed the number again. “Retrieve doser.”

  The door to the cell slid back open and the technicians began the process of removing each needle and finally tucking the squid away from sight.

  “Now we wait,” Faddig whispered.

  “It shouldn’t be long. Our last lab tests indicated the next-gen Cradle mutation occurs very quickly.”

  Faddig leaned into the window. “These aren’t lab rats.”

  The technician smiled. “Neither were our test subjects.”

  The implication was clear. Faddig nodded his approval. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to promote you to my lead biologist. What’s your name?”

  “Hitomi, sir.”

  Faddig’s gaze pierced the veil of Hitomi’s eyes and offered a genuine smile. “Means pupil, does it not?”

  Hitomi bowed curtly. “You understand Japanese?”

  Faddig laughed and traced his gaze up the line of Hitomi’s lab coat. “Only enough to sate my curiosity.”

  Hitomi and Faddig returned their attention to the men and women within the holding cell. After a moment, Hitomi pointed excitedly. “Over there. In the corner.”

  A single finger rose from the cement floor and dropped back down. The action repeated until the entire hand hovered in the air. Eventually the arm bent and the palm slammed down awkwardly. With a strained and quivering push, the arm managed to raise the torso until the body flopped over onto its back to reveal a man in his mid- to late thirties. He had a thick beard in desperate need of a trim and a shiny, bald head.

  Even after the exertion, the man’s chest did not rise and fall.

  To the surprise of Faddig and Hitomi, the man very slowly sat up from the waist. Once at ninety degrees, the man’s head lolled forwards and bounced on the resistance of his neck back to an upright position. His eyelids fluttered and fell motionless.

  Flutter.

  Flutter.

  In a shock of kinetic grace, the man’s eyes opened and some invisible string drew him to standing. He stared blindly ahead, through the fog of sour milk eyes with the slightest hint of pupil. When he took his first awkward step, he nearly tumbled forward. Quickly, he righted himself and gained a semblance of coordination. One foot placed in front of the other. Missing was the gait of the Moaner, the rage of the Screamer.

  Faddig raised his hands toward the window. “Behold, my creation. My Frankenstein.”

  Hitomi leaned into the window to get a closer look. “Don’t you mean…”

  “Please give me sound,” Faddig whispered.

  With the turn of a dial, two monitors came to life.

  “Where is the sound? Why is there no…”

  Before Faddig could finish the question, the first moan spilled from the speakers. The sound was soft, lyrical.

  Hitomi turned the sound to eleven. “It sounds like he’s humming a tune.”

  Faddig stepped closer to the source of the sound. “It’s familiar.” He turned to Hitomi. “It’s a song. Where have I heard that?”

  Faddig vanished inside his own bank of memories in search of a lost moment. He smiled and two quick tears danced down his cheeks. “My son. This was his favorite band. Skyharbor. The song is called ‘Evolution’. The last time I saw him, he was learning to play it on his guitar. He almost had it.”

  The humming was slowly drowned by the groans and moans of the remaining subjects. One by one, they stood and wavered on drug-addled legs.

  Faddig wiped away the tears and smoothed down his tie. “Can I speak with them?”

  Hitomi offered Faddig a wireless handset and pointed to a red trigger. “Press that to speak.”

  He drew the receiver up to his head and depressed the button. “I am the Lord you will swear to obey.”

  seventeen | let it burn

  Gerrand sighed.

  Rondo shot a glance his way. “What’s wrong, doc?”

  “I need to…” Gerrand looked over his shoulder as if sensing a dangerous spy. “Urinate.”

  Rondo released an uproarious laugh. “Seriously? Do you think the NSA is looking over your shoulder waiting for that moment of weakness so they might catch you w
ith your pants, literally, down?”

  “Nice use of the word literally.” Gerrand sighed again.

  The driver glanced into his rear view mirror at the two men. “We’re going to have to find a gas station anyway. I’m running at a half a tank, and I don’t want to have to stop after nightfall.”

  Rondo nodded. “Do it. My legs could use a bit of stretching anyway.”

  The bus lurched forward to spin out as much highway as possible. A comforting silence fell over the passengers.

  Two exits later, the driver took an off ramp that promised gas, food, and lodging. Inquisitive heads turned. Rondo stood and addressed the crew.

  “We’re making a quick pit stop for fuel, food, and facilities. If you don’t have to piss or shit, stay on the bus. If you do, make your business quick. Rusty, I want you and Ducky to locate supplies…if there are any available. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the crew barked in return.

  The transport hissed to a stop and the exit swung open. Rondo and Gerrand were the first to depart. Gerrand sped to the door of the quick mart.

  “Hold your road, Gerrand.” Rondo called out.

  Gerrand turned, the look on his face desperate.

  “Yeah, yeah…I don’t give a nun’s balls how bad you have to do onesies. You let me check the place out for walking death first. Understood?”

  Gerrand nodded.

  Rondo opened the door a crack and listened carefully. After a moment of careful consideration, he slipped inside and assessed the situation. Satisfied, he opened the door and gestured for Gerrand to enter.

  “I believe the room you want is that way.” Rondo pointed to the left.

  Gerrand sped off, the chain attaching the briefcase to his hand clanking against the gray aluminum box. Rondo made his way to the checkout stand to score a handful of plastic bags. When he turned, a piercing scream tore through the room. The sound wasn’t Gerrand…nor was it human.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed, and took off toward the restrooms.

  Another scream issued from the men’s room. Rondo wrenched the door open to see a Screamer punching at the metal of a stall.

  Gerrand cried out for help.