by Jack Wallen
The request was a punch in the throat. NSLC was our home, our refuge from the hell and horror beyond the wall. Since my short stint in Munich, this was the first time I’d felt even a modicum of safety. But there it was…etched deep in the soulful lines of Raneesha’s face—a truth I couldn’t escape. I needed to tell the woman I’d have to discuss the deal with my colleagues. Unfortunately, it was clearly evident discussion wasn’t on the table. Our cause had been handed an ultimatum, and I couldn’t find a way around it.
I nodded. “Deal. You convince Dane to help us, and I will…” the words hiccuped in my mouth, afraid to be voiced. “I will get everyone on board with your demands.”
Raneesha smiled. “These aren’t demands. We just want to be able to live our lives according to our adopted doctrine.” She hung her head. “At least until I can convince Dane to abandon Thelema.” Tears sprang from her lovely, chestnut eyes. “A day that may never come.”
My hand instinctively squeezed Raneesha’s. “Talk to me.”
“They are so violent. I’ve studied similar alternative cultures—societies that have been extinct for centuries. But this…I don’t want to be a part of it, and I’m certain Dane feels the same way. He’s just…”
Raneesha paused. I prompted her onward with a nod and squeeze.
“He’s so deeply ensconced in the beliefs now. I’m not certain I’ll ever manage to pull him from the lure of such power. Those people literally worship the man.” Raneesha recovered from her downward spiral with an impressive display of emotional agility. “So, we have a deal?”
I nodded. “We have a deal.”
The time to break the news to the rest of the gang was nigh. There was no reason to hold off on this life-changing announcement.
No way in hell this would go over well.
sixteen | alpha, beta, gamma
Jessica Burgess sat, arms resting on her stainless steel and glass desk. Behind her hung a portrait of Johnathan Burgess, the architect of the Zero Day Collective; her father. Below the painting was a plaque that read Bow before the one truth.
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony proudly played through a pair of speakers designed into the top of her desk. She paused the official soundtrack of the ZDC and tuned into the voice of the enemy.
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your…personal soundtrack, to the end of the world. That was one of my all-time favorite songs from the eighties, “Are We Ourselves”, by The Fixx. Funny thing, that song. It took, what, over thirty years to answer that one, simple question. Ladies and gentle-grins, are we ourselves? No. The bastard child of the Third Reich took it upon themselves to ensure the human race had no choice but to evolve into some other being. On the surface, we are now little more than animals, scraping and clawing to survive the ride. It’s not until you scratch the…surface that you discover a fatty layer of truth. The Zero Day Collective wants to believe they have brought out the best in humanity. But I know and you know—we all fucking well know—we’re not drinking your piss-flavored Kool-Aid. You cannot control us, you will not derail us, and we will never give in. Toss everything our way—Moaners, Screamers, Boners, Berzerkers—and watch us swat your efforts like flies. In the grand scream of things you are little more than a distraction, a circus full of clowns doing everything they can to shift our focus from reality. To each and every living member of the ZDC, I say unto thee…
The pounding snare drum intro to Primus’ “Tommy The Cat” clattered from the speakers. Jessica switched the station back to the only officially accepted Zero Day Collective music channel, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. Beethoven washed over her like an invigorating shower. The moment of glorious peace was interrupted by a gentle rapping on her office door. She sat up straight, silenced the symphony, and called out, “Come.”
The door cracked open and the face of her assistant peeked in. “Transferring a call to your cell?”
Jessica nodded. “Thank you, Terrance.”
Terrance disappeared from sight. Seconds later, Jessica’s mobile rang. On the screen was Colonel Daschal. Jessica didn’t even get to say hello before the bombastic officer jumped into his spiel.
“I have just received confirmation the market has opened and is already attracting significant bids. How high are we to go before we release the cure?”
Jessica considered the question while she spun on her chair to face the portrait of the patriarch. The only thought to cross her mind was What would Papa do? The answer to the question was simple. She stood from her chair, nodded to the portrait, and replied to Daschal.
“I want a real-time update on every bid. The seller will continue the auction until I see exactly what I’m looking for. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the staff route the necessary information to you immediately.”
“When the proper bid appears, I will alert you.”
Jessica didn’t wait for a reply before hanging up the phone. She sat back into her chair and stared at the computer monitor perched on her desk. After a moment, a window appeared with a continuous scroll of information.
Dollar amounts.
Offers of marriage.
Company shares.
Rule of fiefdoms.
What Jessica wanted had yet to show itself. She had an agenda, one passed down to her from her father’s advisers and handlers. She stared at the screen and whispered, “Come on, baby…show me what I want.”
Nothing. The longer she stared, the more desperate the offers. It was becoming all too clear she was facing a marathon.
“Let’s see how intuitive you are,” Jessica said as she took up her mouse. With a quick click on the Filter button, she was able to set up an alert that would scan for particular keywords within the stream of bids. She typed two simple strings, each on its own line:
Bethany.
Jacob.
With a click of the Save button, the filter went to work to scan the feed for her filters. She didn’t care about the cash, the land, the proposals. The only thing she wanted, in exchange for the cure, was the Zero Day Collective’s one true foe.
Bethany Nitshimi.
She synced the alert to her mobile, left her office, and made her way to CENCOM. Although she could monitor the sellers from her office, the Cradle was another thing altogether.
The hall was empty, much of the staff tucked away in offices as the operation unfolded. There was too much to do and not enough hands on deck to spare. The ZDC had lost rank and file at every intersection.
All thanks to Bethany Nitshimi.
“You will fall,” Jessica whispered.
When the leader of the ZDC entered CENCOM, every officer and non-com present shot to attention.
“At ease,” Jessica mumbled, hating to have to utter a single syllable of military-speak. She was born and bred to bleed business, not bark orders at an army of soldiers. Her vocabulary was rife with buzzwords and the catch phrase du jour; actionable synergies and top-down, middle-out framework.
A young female officer approached and saluted. “Ma’am, we have confirmation that Cradle units have reached Denver, Colorado; Chama, New Mexico; Salt Lake City, Utah. We are about to activate their chest cameras.”
Jessica nodded. The officer turned and gave the command, “Light ‘em up!”
On the overhead monitors, different views appeared…the clarity of picture strikingly clear.
“Well done, soldier…well done,” Jessica voiced her approval.
At the top of each monitor was a small inlay that displayed the location of the unit. Each scene was similar in form—a single point of view camera, clearly mounted at chest level, displaying whatever landscape lay before the undead foot soldier. The monitor labeled Denver displayed what could only be a large metropolis. Buildings stretched to the sky, beyond the range of the small cameras. The monitor marked “Chama” was little more than desert, thinly developed for human life. A small cyclone of dust and debris rose and fell away.
The monitor marked Sal
t Lake City was what captured Jessica’s attention. Trapped in the frame of the screen was a wall that stretched some twenty feet in the air.
“What in the hell is that?” Jessica pointed and asked.
“A—a wall, ma’am,” one of the grunts replied.
Jessica fought the urge to smack the back of the soldier’s head. “I can see that. But why is it there, and who built it?”
The female who had first greeted Jessica chimed in with some much-needed data. “According to satellite images, that wall was erected almost a year ago and took nearly nine months to complete.”
“Inhabitants?” Jessica inquired.
“Yes, ma’am…most of whom are still alive and five-by-five.”
“Nice,” Jessica whispered. “Any sign of the undead within the wall?”
The click and clack of keyboards rose from every desk until another soldier said with much pride, “The last…zombie sighting was three weeks ago. Since then, it’s been mostly quiet.”
Jessica positioned herself under the Salt Lake City monitor and stared. She finally nodded and ordered, “Send the cure to Salt Lake City. Make sure they know not to sell until I give them the okay.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier barked.
“And patch the feed of that camera into my office,” Jessica snapped out the order.
“Ma’am,” another soldier addressed the leader.
Jessica stopped in her tracks and hesitantly nodded.
“Are we to give the orders for the Cradle to attack?”
The question stopped Jessica in her tracks. She turned to face the speaker and inhaled deeply. “These aren’t Army-issue soldiers; they have no weapons. How exactly do you plan on sending them into battle?”
The officer tilted a quizzical look toward Jessica. “Ma’am?”
“You have something to say to me? Out with it, soldier!”
“The Cradle is armed. Each soldier is packing various types of weaponry—guns, knives…anything we could think of.”
Jessica bristled at the response. She stepped in until she was nose to nose with the officer. When she spoke, her words were laced with a breeze of warm spittle. “Who told you to arm those bastards?”
The soldier blanched. “The directive was outlined in the original doctrine written by your father…ma’am.”
Jessica blinked and pursed her lips. “What’s your name?” she asked the uniformed woman.
“Sergeant Kelly, ma’am. Liv Kelly.”
A slow, almost flirtatious grin slipped over Jessica’s lips. “Very well, Liv…give the order.”
Sergeant Kelly spun on her heels and barked out, “Proceed with Genesis, level two.”
Jessica thought twice about making her exit, opting to remain and witness whatever the next iteration of the Cradle might bring about.
The monitor marked Denver came alive with action. The Genesis unit on display brought to bear a pistol, pointing it forward.
“What is happening?” Jessica asked. “Aren’t those…”
“Zombies?” Sergeant Kelly responded. “Yes. This is what the Genesis Cradle was all about. Keep watching, ma’am.”
The armed zombie marched forward, through the streets of Denver, until a living human was found. A middle-aged male, clothed in a torn and tattered suit, rummaged through a trash can outside of an empty diner. The Genesis unit approached the male until it was within a few feet. The sound of the pistol cocking drew the man’s attention from his quest.
“W-what the…what are you?” The man raised his hands to block the sight and shot.
The zombie drew near enough to shove the barrel of the gun into the man’s temple. The frightened male froze in abject terror. When the zombie grabbed him with its free hand, the man broke down, dropped to his knees, and prayed. The Genesis unit drew the man’s arm upward, until it was out of the camera shot.
“Wait,” Jessica snapped. “What’s happening?”
Liv nodded toward the monitor. “The Genesis unit is biting through the flesh of the man’s arm.”
Jessica turned to Sergeant Kelly. “Why the fuck isn’t it bashing his head against the pavement, or popping his skull with its bare hands?”
Liv nodded curtly. “Ma’am, that’s not within the parameters of the operation. The Genesis units have only one directive…infect. Each of them will make their way across the country and spread the alpha virus to as many living humans as possible. Once the victims turn, they’ll then start spreading the beta virus. Those infected with the beta virus will immediately spread the gamma virus…and so on. With each iteration of the virus, a new cure will be generated and sold. That is the nature of the Genesis Cradle…as dictated by your father. Have you not read the manifesto?”
Over the course of her life, Jessica Burgess had been privy to so many of her father’s master plans. She’d known, since childhood, of the man’s hatred toward those who brought such pain and suffering to his ancestors. But this…this was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed him capable of. She hadn’t read her father’s book, never had the slightest intention of doing so. She took over the Zero Day Collective out of familial duty and a desperate desire to remain alive. Never in her wildest imagination did she dream the family “business” would come to this. A knot of guilt twisted itself into being within her gut. Fortunately for the ZDC, the moment was fleeting. She returned her attention to the display.
The Genesis unit released the man’s arm. Even though the video was without sound, it was clear the victim was screaming and weeping in pain, holding his arm as if acid had entered his bloodstream.
“How long before the infection takes hold?” Jessica asked the room.
A gaunt gentleman clad in lab coat looked over a pair of thick, army-issue glasses. “Our data indicates the turn should take place within minutes. The effect is vicious and…”
Almost as if on cue, the man violently bucked and dropped from the field of vision. The Genesis unit moved on.
“So now we’ll have beta zombies marching around, with no ability to track them?” Jessica asked.
“Ma’am,” Mr. Lab Coat replied. “We’re prescribing the term Beta only to those infected by the second generation. Every other iteration will be denoted by the same title as its infector. Or, if you need, we can denote them, Alpha, Alpha-2, Beta, Beta-2, and so on.”
Jessica Burgess glared at the scientist. “I don’t give a shit what you call them, so long as they follow their orders.”
The man in the coat nodded. “They will, ma’am. They will.”
“Fine,” Jessica took one last look at the monitors. “Sergeant Kelly, I want you to keep me apprised of every update…regardless of how minor it may seem.”
Sergeant Kelly snapped off a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
The second Jessica was outside the CENCOM room, her shoulders and chest sunk and her breath stuttered. She marched steadily until the door to her office closed her away from the rest of the Zero Day Collective. Inside her sanctum, she collapsed against a wall and succumbed to guilt and shame, tears flowing mercilessly down her cheeks. The irony of the great Jonathan Burgess looking down on the scene, disapprovingly, did not escape her.
seventeen | trapping the damned
Raneesha returned the flip phone back into my care. “Dane said he’ll do it. It took a good deal of convincing, but having you and your people out of New Salt Lake City was enough to sway him.”
“And the cure?” I asked, my voice dropping to a deeper, more menacing level.
“He’ll get it.”
“Are you certain he can pull it off?” I pushed the issue.
Raneesha grinned with a nod. “When Dane sets his mind to something, nothing stops him. He’ll acquire your cure and then he’ll help you beat back the Zero Day Collective. You just better make sure to get your gang packed up and ready to bug out, once the fog of war settles.”
“They’ll be ready,” I said, hiding my doubt as I left the room.
I found Jamal in the war room, hovering
over the bank of radios. He was brain-deep in something and didn’t hear me enter. I cleared my throat. Nothing. “Jamal,” I sang. Nothing. I sneaked up behind him and grabbed a cheek.
“Son of a bitch,” Jamal squealed. He spun around and was, oddly enough, surprised to see me.
“Who else would be grabbin’ this ass?”
“Dare I rattle off a list?” Jamal teased.
I folded my arms and tapped a foot. “I’m waiting.”
From behind, a throat was cleared. “You’re not alone in here.”
I turned to see Echo, rocking Jacob in her arms. She smiled and winked.
Jamal saved me from disastrous embarrassment. “I think I’m ready to broadcast the Chatter patterns.”
Echo and I laughed.
“What? You don’t like the designation?”
“It’s fine, J-Mart. Call it whatever you want…just light it up.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to borrow an old bit of code you put together back in school. You might remember this particular function…rhythm_section.h? Ring a bell?”
A laugh escaped my lips. “We put that together to scan music libraries for stolen passages. Wasn’t the original name ice_ice_baby.h?”
Jamal let loose a deep belly laugh. “Oh, my God, I’d forgotten that. Those were such good times.” Jamal turned and picked up an old MP3 player. “Needless to say, your early work came in handy.” He tapped the play button. Over the speakers, the disturbing sounds of Chatterers spilled.
“I did my best to make the patterns as random as possible. I didn’t want to broadcast a repetitious loop over and over. This way it seems more…natural?”
The word seemed out of place. To the untrained ear, the cacophony of noise was no more than the soundtrack to a rather hideous horror film. All we needed was a droning symphony, with screeching violins and out-of-tune pianos playing in the distance.
I missed the days when horror was fiction. Unfortunately, we still had the consistent heinous behavior of mankind to fall back on. No matter what evolution does to the undead, the human race will always manage to, as Jacob Plummer once said, cock the trigger of the fuck you gun and blow itself to shit.
