by Jack Wallen
“Richard,” I whispered. “Tell me you saw that.”
“I did,” Dr. Gerrand answered in kind.
The zombie continued staring me down, eyes never blinking, intensity never waning. The clacking pattern it had repeated over and over shifted, quickening into a staccato stream of noise.
“It recognizes you,” Gerrand muttered softly. “This is not good.”
“You weren’t with us, but a while ago there was a concert…”
“I remember hearing about,” Gerrand interjected.
“During the show, someone—something—resembling Jacob found me. He, it, was a Moaner; but it recognized me…sought me out. I had to put a bullet through its head, just like I’d done with the real Jacob. That son of a bitch had the same stare I’m seeing now.”
“What are you saying, Bethany?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The Zero Day Collective have found a way to program the undead to do their bidding.”
“And their bidding is to track you down?” Gerrand lobbed a guess.
I nodded, unable or unwilling to form the answer in my mouth.
Gerrand stiffened. “Then we only have one choice.”
“What’s that?” I dared ask.
“Take out the Zero Day Collective once and for all.”
twenty | a cleansing fire
Jessica thumbed through the diary of her father. She’d avoided reading the scrawlings of the madman for years, but the time had come. The book had been retained within a safe that could only be unlocked by a retinal and thumb scan…the only match being either Jonathan or Jessica Burgess.
The leather binding hadn’t been cracked since her father, the man who built the Zero Day Collective, penned his last entry. There should have been some pomp or reverence to the moment. Instead, there was only fear, uncertainty, and doubt.
Between the covers were quotes regarding and quoting Hitler, Mengele, Jim Jones, and a smattering of other megalomaniacs and demagogues. One chapter, in particular, was titled Meine Kampf, Meine Gott.
“I can’t do this,” Jessica whispered just before a hollow knock at the office door shocked her into closing the diary and tucking it carefully inside a desk drawer.
“Come,” Jessica barked nervously.
Sergeant Kelly peeked her head into the room. “Ma’am?”
Jessica nodded. Kelly continued. “We’ve received word that Operation Auction has succeeded. We have the location of Bethany.”
An unnerving silence wafted over the room.
“Ma’am? Your orders?” the sergeant nudged.
Silence.
“Ms. Bur—”
Jessica slammed a fist onto the desk and stared into an unseen, unknown void. When she finally spoke the order, the words were choked and broken.
“Launch the attack.” Tears erupted from the corners of her eyes, a deluge of grief to wet her cheeks.
The door closed with a resounding thud. After a stutter-filled sigh, Jessica removed the diary from her desk, opened it, and read aloud.
I have reached, with irony’s own hand, into the depths of depravity. The Reich that killed my parents now serves as a wellspring of hope that I can turn around and use to eradicate those that unjustly and inhumanely destroyed my innocence, my hope, and every ounce of kindness within my soul. Josef Mengele once said The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it. It is my hope that the human race will eventually—and completely—believe we are doing nothing and have done nothing.
Jessica’s fingers dug into the paper and tore it from the book. With a weeping wail, she began ripping page after page from the binding, sending each fluttering to the floor. Before she could commit to fully raging against the leather binding, she stopped and watched the last bits of her father’s existence float delicately downward.
“What have I done?” she whispered and scrambled to gather the pages in her shaking hands.
Jessica Burgess stood, smoothed down her skirt, and made her way to the door. “I have to stop this.” Before her polished fingers wrapped around the handle, a klaxon rose to an angry volume. The sound stopped her breath. The realization instantly registered…it was too late—the operation had commenced. The Zero Day Collective was about to ship thousands of undead and hundreds of living soldiers to the location of Bethany Nitshimi.
Her face blank, her tears dried, Jessica returned to her desk to compose an email she knew would someday be necessary. Had her father known what she was about to do, he’d have had her tortured and dismantled years ago. This was a secret Jessica Burgess had carried with her for years, since that fateful day in New York when her father was sent plummeting to his death at the hand of a resistance that would never fade.
She placed her fingers on the keyboard to compose the email, when a window popped up, its contents a real-time video feed from the new leader of the ZDC tactical squadron. The broadcast included audio, which spilled from the speakers mounted in her desk.
“We have altered the Cradle’s course to New Salt Lake City. In the process, we picked up a falsified Genesis signal emanating from within the wall. We believe Bethany’s crew have managed to reverse engineer the communication device. It clearly has borne them no fruit. Our ETA is one hour twenty minutes. All transport vehicles are loaded with every undead unit in our possession. Bethany Nitshimi will fall this time.”
Jessica muted the sound on her computer, but continued watching—with disgust bubbling in her throat—the soldiers bouncing in the seats of the Jeep. Desert dust flew up in all directions as the convoy sped forward to reach the rebel base before it was too late. Jessica minimized the video window, brought up her email client, and began typing.
Bethany,
I knew someday I’d be writing to you. My name is Jessica Burgess, daughter of Jonathan Burgess. The position as the leader of the Zero Day Collective was bequeathed to me by a man I refuse to accept as my father. I am sending you this message to inform you of my plans to dismantle the organization from within. My father’s intentions and actions have torn at my humanity long enough.
My goal, however, is not the only reason for this communication. You must know that the ZDC has launched an all-out attack on New Salt Lake City. There will be soldiers, Moaners, Screamers…everything they have to throw will be thrown. They will be arriving at your location within the hour. I suggest you either leave, hide, or prepare to fight.
To my soul and heart, I am profoundly sorry for what this group has done to you and the human race. I hope this warning will be of use.
Give me time and I promise the Zero Day Collective will be no more.
God speed,
Jessica Burgess.
Without so much as a spell check, Jessica clicked the Send button. The email sped off toward its destination, and the leader of the ZDC breathed with the slightest ease. She then stood, pulled out a ream of paper, dumped it into the trash, located an old can of hairspray from her bottom desk drawer, sprayed the contents of the flammable liquid into the metal bin, and lit it up. As the flames rose, she fueled the fire with anything she could get her hands on until she was sure the blaze would spread. With the vast majority of the ZDC chasing death, the likelihood of the fire being contained would be minimal.
Jessica grabbed her purse, walked to the exit of her office, opened the door, locked the handle, stepped into the hall, shut the door behind her, and walked away.
twenty-one | hope springs internal
“Jamal!” I screamed. When there was no answer, I unleashed the beast of my voice once again. “Jamal, get in here now!”
“I didn’t do it, I swear. Unless it was good, in which case…”
“Shut up and read this.”
I spun my laptop around so Jamal could view the email. He leaned into the screen and read; as he did, his eyes widened until I was certain they’d roll out of their sockets.
Jamal covered his mouth. “Holy shit. Is this real?”
“I traced it. Seems legit. A quick background check turned up
just enough information on Jessica Burgess to confirm she was the daughter of one Jonathan Burgess. I think you’ve heard me say a thing or two about that deplorable sack of shit.”
“What do we do?” Jamal stood and paced. “We aren’t prepared for another undead onslaught. Where we stand at the moment, we’d be lucky to fight off a pack of Emo-loving scene kids.”
“Morgan,” I shouted.
Jamal jumped. “Must you?”
Before I could answer, Morgan appeared in the doorway. “You rang?”
“Did you ever manage to contact any nearby Zombie Response Team units?”
Morgan entered, nodding. “Yeah. The Rock Springs, Wyoming chapter has been mobilized. They should be arriving any time. Why?”
Again, I turned the computer, this time inviting Morgan to read.
“My God,” she whispered. “I don’t know if the Rock Springs unit will be enough. Let me get on the phone and see how quickly every surrounding team can get here.”
With a frustrated “Fuck!” the leader of the ZRT vanished from sight.
“We also have the Thelemites,” Jamal reminded me.
“War room. Now.” I barked the command as I exited the room.
Racing down the hall, I shouted for everyone to convene. My voice carried with it an urgency I hadn’t tapped into for a while. My heart thumped and flipped within its bony cage and my skin cooled to clammy. Had adrenaline not been driving me on, I’d probably have found myself convulsing on the floor with a river of drool pooling below my head. I hated that this felt good. Maybe good wasn’t the proper descriptor. It felt familiar. Among the wreckage of the apocalypse, familiar was about as good as it would get. I had to find some solace in that.
“What’s happening?” Gerrand was the first to question.
“The Zero Day Collective are about an hour away. They’re going to hit us with everything they’ve got. If we don’t find a few cavalries to call upon, it’s over.”
A field of eyes stared back at me, begging for me to bring hope to the table. Every familiar face was painted with a pale shade of fear. They needed me. Little did my dear friends understand how deeply the feeling was reciprocated.
Before anyone spoke a word, Raneesha pulled out her phone, pressed a button, and raised the handset to her ear. She spoke with a misplaced ease. “Dane? Yes, baby, I’m fine. Listen. No, listen my love. Things are about to go straight to hell here. I need you…please listen. I need you to get back now and gather every brother and sister we have.” Raneesha paused long enough to take in a deep breath and sigh it out. “The ZDC are on their way. It’s time to fight. This is the right thing to do, and you know it is.” Another pause. “Very well. I love you, too.” She hung up the phone and nodded to me. “Dane is ten minutes out. As soon as he arrives, he will have our small army gathered and ready to fight.”
I nodded. “Wonderful. Thank you, Raneesha.”
The woman returned my thanks with a kind and simple nod.
“Morgan?” I asked.
“Rock Springs ZRT is near. I’ve also confirmed three more units within forty-five minutes.”
I turned my attention to Gerrand. “How quickly can you…”
“Fry? Already done,” Gerrand replied.
“What about Fry bombs? How many can you produce in an hour?”
Gerrand paused to ponder. “If I had some help, I could put together twenty or so. Given the number of hypodermic charges each bomb can discharge, we’re looking at the possibility—all things being equal—of each bomb taking down twenty-five zombies.”
“That’s five hundred zombies,” Jamal chimed in.
“I can live with that,” I responded.
“I can’t,” Gerrand added. “They could unleash thousands on us. If we only manage to take out less than half, we’re dead.”
“Don’t forget the Thelemites.” Raneesha’s words rose with pride. “Our numbers are larger than you think, and not one is afraid to die.”
Josh raised his hand. “We’ll have at least a couple hundred armed and trained soldiers arriving soon. If I remember the Rock Springs unit well enough, they come fully loaded—machine guns, grenades, rocket launchers.”
My heaving chest eased a bit. We could win this war…this final war. The Zero Day Collective’s last stand. The very purveyors of Armageddon could fall from without and within and my dream of taking them down could come true.
“Bethany?” Jamal leaned into me, his voice soft and brimming with concern.
“What?”
“Why are you crying?”
I hadn’t realized tears were racing down my cheeks. Everyone had to know there was more to this battle than win or go home. It was at that very moment I decided to let slip my dog of war and fill them in on Jessica Burgess’ email.
A storm of silence overtook the room; the energy buzzing from minds and bodies was palpable. Echo and Rizzo were wrapped in each other’s arms, about ready to explode with joy. Gerrand nodded, in deep thought.
“Fuck yeah!” It was Josh that broke the spell. “That’s the best goddamn news I’ve heard in a very, very long time.”
“It also means what is about to happen is winner take all,” Gerrand pronounced in his stately, British manner. “If we can manage to decimate the ZDC army, and Jessica Burgess follows through with her promise, the enemy will be no more.”
“I like the sound of that,” Morgan added. “Imagine what the world would be like if zombies were the only thing left to fight.”
A collective sigh was released into the room. I had to prevent complacency from taking control. I clapped my hands together. “Echo, Rizzo…you two will help Gerrand with the Fry bombs. Josh and Morgan, I want you coordinating with the ZRT units as they arrive. Have them set up a perimeter to take out as many of the undead as possible before they hit the wall. Raneesha, keep in contact with Dane. When they return, help them get the Thelemite army ready. Consider positioning your soldiers at the top of the wall with whatever weapons you have. Jamal, you and I will…”
Morgan stopped me short. “You and Jamal will remain here. I don’t give a shit if the leader of the ZDC has promised to take the organization down, you’re still way too important.”
“She’s right,” Josh added. “We’ll need someone to coordinate communication between groups. I can’t think of anyone better suited for that job than the two of you.”
“Don’t argue,” Morgan insisted.
“Fine. Jamal and I will have radios for each of you.” I fell silent, long enough to take everyone in. There were words dancing about on the tip of my tongue, words I was afraid to voice. We were about to face what could be our greatest moment or our most miserable failure.
At least this time, we would be prepared.
“Let’s do this thang,” Jamal sang out. A wave of energy rose, along with cheers and enthusiastic whistles.
As everyone began to file out of the room, a pit formed in my gut and a lump in my throat. The last time I had to face down a battle of epic proportions, I lost everyone dear to me. I’d only known that crew for a short while. What I stood to see yanked from life and limb now? I wasn’t sure my heart could take the pounding. I loved my circle of hope, faith, and trust—each and every member was a testament to humanity. Losing them would be tantamount to failure on every conceivable level.
“Bitcoin for your thoughts.” Jamal’s soothing voice caressed my ears.
I turned, wrapped my arms around him, and buried my face in the crook of his neck. Jamal returned the hug in solidarity, his hand cupping the back of my head. “This is our war to win, B.”
“But can we?” I whispered.
“Magic Eight Ball says yes.”
“I love you, Jamal.”
The hug intensified. “I love you too, Bethany.”
“Get a room,” Echo teased as she followed Gerrand out.
Jamal attempted to pull out of the embrace. I clamped down until my arms shuddered with exertion.
“You okay?” Jamal asked sof
tly.
“You really have to ask that question?” I answered.
“I’m male, remember? It’s in our DNA to ask the inane.”
I finally released my death grip. “You do it well. Too well, sometimes.”
Jamal grabbed my hand and led me back into the boudoir. “Let me take your mind off of whatever travesty is circling that mental drain. I have a great idea with radios. It’s something I’ve been working on in my spare time.”
I stopped in my tracks. “What spare time?”
“Mostly while you’re asleep. That’s right, sometimes I stand over you and get my creep on, and sometimes I get my geek on.” Jamal scooped up one of the radios from his workbench. “This little trick would be of the latter persuasion. I’ve programmed all of these to simultaneously switch channels, seemingly in random order. They’ll stay connected and the ZDC won’t be able to track us unless they know exactly which channel comes up next. Even I don’t know the answer to that. How, you say? I used your randomocity function.”
“From that wretched game I created in school?” I cringed.
“Arms-Ageddon,” Jamal chuckled. “That very one. Gameplay was crap, but the coding was so elegant. I’d never seen game design go up in flames with such grace.” Jamal handed me a pair of radios, scooped up the remainder, and nodded for me to follow. We zipped through the headquarters to distribute the devices. As we handed each off, Jamal said to everyone, “Switch this on as soon as I give the order.”
The function of mine Jamal had used depended upon each system coming online at precisely the same time; otherwise, the function would fail and the systems would be unable to communicate. Sometimes, even when swinging a hammer, precision is the only thing that will guarantee a strike.
We wound up in the war room. Jamal held his radio up and shouted, “Three. Two. One. On!” With a flick of his thumb, Jamal switched on our radio. Static gave way to life as Gerrand, Morgan, Raneesha, Josh, and Echo’s voices rose from the tinny speaker.
