I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  “Yeah…and it’s as lovely as it is grotesque. Think about it – we just filmed something that shocked the shockers! If that scene punched us in the gut that hard, imagine what it’ll do the audiences? That’s golden right there…and we’re just a few minutes into filming. Sonja, this is going to be amazing.”

  Sonja slowly lowered herself into her chair as the actor dropped what had to be a prosthetic head and walked toward the door.

  “Oh shit, he’s going into the house. Conroy, can you get into the house? Find a back door or something. We don’t want to lose a second of this.”

  Remy’s camera turned as he made his way to the back of the house. As Conroy disappeared, Mixx scurried down from the roof and made a bee-line for the front door. Eddie couldn’t enter the house, for fear of getting caught in Conroy’s lens, so he hovered at the door way. The lens of Mixx’ camera displayed nothing but the inside of the average suburban home.

  Conroy managed to get inside the house and worked his way through a laundry room and into a sizable kitchen – appointed completely in modern stainless appliances.

  “Damn! I want that kitchen.” Sonja reached into my head and yanked the thought out.

  “Where’s the goddamn zombie? Conroy, find that actor now!”

  Remy wasted no time. He and his camera smoothly floated around the first floor. From the Mixx feed we could see them almost capture one another in frame. Eddie was too quick – he slipped back out into the open air and waited.

  Everything was too silent. The moment reminded me how important post-production was. Though the filming technique of both men was astonishing, the raw footage wouldn’t scare a five year old child. We needed music, jump cuts, jerky fades, and overlays. As is, it was just another actor going through the motions.

  Chapter 12

  John Burgess stared on at the monitors; a smile so bright and wide he almost looked more like a waxen participant of Madam Tussaud’s. Not one eye stole a glance his way. Everyone was glued to the miracle unfolding in front of their eyes. The Zero Day Collective had succeeded. Flesh had been reanimated for the singular purpose of rebooting the human race.

  One of the board members, clad in a crisp linen suit and perfectly matched Windsor knotted tie, stood and offered up the cliché of all clichés – the slow clap.

  “Bravo John. Bravo. You have pulled off the unthinkable. And now…what? What is the next step of the Great Cleansing? Reality TV? Are you planning on hosting an undead Miss Universe? What about Zombie Football? Surely this madness doesn’t end here. Hell, this is just some trumped up, B-horror vehicle to prove to the world what you are capable of. Or…could it be possible that this was your master plan? Kill everyone with bad film-making?”

  The man in the killer Windsor knot beamed an expensive smile at John Burgess. No one joined the over-bearing grin. Not one laugh was heard. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the over-sized, over-ripe leader of the Zero Day Collective.

  Until John picked up his phone and dialed a number.

  Before the called went through, Burgess gave the slightest of nods to the security guards at the door. The second the guards caught sight of the gesture, they moved in on the man with the mocking tone.

  “Get your hands off of me!” The be-suited man shouted to no avail.

  “Gerand…I have your next subject,” Burgess spoke into the phone. “I don’t care if you already have someone in mind, I am about to send you a rather disposable and despicable human. I want him amplified immediately. Infect him and send him out. Let’s give our good director a challenge. Besides, what’s a zombie movie without a horde of the undead?”

  Burgess hung up the phone and stared at Mr. Windsor.

  “What in the Hell are you doing John? I’m your fucking right-hand man. You can’t do this without me!”

  The accusation jerked Burgess out of his seat and brought his mighty hands down onto the horizontal hardwood surface. The table was little match for the force of the blow inflicted. Drinking glasses shuddered, pencils rolled; yet somehow, the table survived.

  “I have done everything without you and I will continue doing so…without you! As you are spiraling into the undead abyss, I want you to remember who it was that sent you there. Just before you finally amplify, know that last thought of revenge will never see the light of day. The second that virus kicks in, you’ll never remember what happened or who ordered your remaking. It was me, John Burgess. I am in control – complete and absolute control. Soon the entire world will be at my mercy and there isn’t one damn thing you can do about it. While I’m busy ruling the world, you’ll be caught up desperately seeking out the gray matter of your fellow man – until someone wises up and puts a bullet through that thick skull of yours.” Burgess turned his focus to the guards. “Take that son of a bitch away from my sight.”

  The guards complied and hauled the man out of the room. His voice ricocheted off every wall it could find. When the noise finally faded into silence, every desperate eye in the room was locked onto their leader.

  “That, ladies and gentlemen, is the new world order. This is no trial by jury or voter-propelled democracy. Welcome to the post-apocalyptic society where power is the only commodity and sex no longer sells near as well as ammunition. I have but one simple goal – own the fucking planet. If you get in the way of that goal…you’re dead. Any questions?”

  A single, shaking hand shot up.

  “Yes Mary?” Burgess grinned as a dollop of sweat splashed down from his chin onto the desk.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Tension dry humped the room. John Burgess stood up straight, smoothed down his tie, and started to pace the room. With his eyes cast to the ceiling, the man cleared his throat and spoke with a ghostly, distant voice.

  “My mother was a survivor of Birkenau. She was six when the Schutzstaffel enslaved her and her family within the walls of that dreaded hell. Because of her angelic beauty, she was taken under the wing of Josef Mengele. The very irony of that protection was what saved her life. The Angel of Death became her keeper. Unfortunately, the man wasn’t always merciful. She spent some twenty years of living with the physical and mental scars inflicted upon her by the Nazi regime before she gave birth to me. My childhood was filled with the horror of her screaming throughout the night. The nightmares and memories that drove her to madness also gave her the strength to take her own life. Before my very eyes, I watched as my darling, frail mother kissed the barrel of a Lugar and painted the wall above our couch with her brains. As soon as I was able to make sense of what had happened, I swore I would make those responsible pay.”

  Burgess gestured to the monitors.

  “This is the beginning of that very master plan.”

  The room fell into complete silence.

  “I will not rest until the men and women that destroyed my mother have suffered.”

  The silence grew thick with tension.

  “John…” It was Tamworth Baxter, the elder stateswoman of the Zero Day Collective – her voice a mixture of Judy Dench and Angelica Houston. “The people responsible for that atrocity have all paid and paid dearly. You cannot possibly expect the children and grandchildren of the Third Reich to claim the responsibility for what happened to your mother. If you follow through with this, you are returning a most damnable volley the human race cannot receive or return. We already have super powers at war with one another, terrorism rampant, and a tragically broken moral compass. What you are proposing is nothing more than an evolved form of biological warfare. You want a board of directors to declare war on an entire nation? John, that is absurd. Had I known this was your plan all along, I would never have joined this group.”

  Tamworth’s brilliant green eyes stared up at Burgess. Her soft features enjoyed a classic beauty that bought her plenty of tasteful second glances. She was used to hearts and minds melting when her gaze was met. There was no mistaking John’s sweat for the melting of resolve.

  “Tam, Tam, Tam…did your addl
ed mind check out as I sent the last member who defied me to have tea with the grim reaper? I love you Tamworth. I always have. The respect you’ve earned should give you the right to question me. But you see…we’re no longer living in a state where other’s opinions matter. For all intents and purposes, my dear Mrs. Baxter, I am God. When I speak, you listen. What I speak, you do not doubt. Why I speak, you do not question. Should you decide you are above that, I have plenty of open spots for extras in my little project. Though an ancient, dried up zombie such the likes of you might put a comical spin on the film that we simply don’t want. What do you say gang? Should dear old Mrs. Tamworth Baxter be sent off to the undead glue factory? Can I get a show of hands? All in favor of amplifying the crone of the damned raise your hand.”

  Only one hand flew into the air – John Burgess’.

  “I’ll be damned, it’s unanimous!”

  Burgess nodded to another guard who stepped over to the latest victim of John’s vitriol. The guard reached out to hoist the woman up. Before anyone realized what was happening, Tamworth had a gun trained on the leaders heart.

  An almost imperceptible nod on Burgess’ part and the guard pulled out his own weapon and sent a bullet through Tamworth Baxter’s skull. The older woman dropped like a wet bag of rotten meat. Burgess crossed around the giant table and pulled the dead body to a standing position. Blood and gore sloshed onto the table and the suits and flesh of those nearby.

  “I want you all to get a good, long look at the results of defying my wishes. I will not hesitate to have anyone in this room instantly killed. If you believe yourself above my rule and command, understand this – one way or another you will meet an untimely fate. Either by amplification or bullet to the head, I will have you killed. Each one of you was brought into the Zero Day Collective because of moral bankruptcy. We are what the world needs right now – a collection of heartless, business-minded people who know the only way to save the human race is by cleansing it of its filth. Once I have cleared my palette of my personal nightmare, we will set our sights on the remaining trash. It will be this committee who decides which members of the human race lives and which dies.”

  Burgess allowed the moment to sink in. The level of focus in the room was so tight that a single clap of the hands would cause a collective heart attack.

  “Now, before we can set my plan in motion, we must continue with our tests. Ladies and gentlemen,” John gestured to the monitors, “our tests.”

  The guard caught the signal from his commander, picked up the corpse, and carried it out of the room. Drips and drops of blood could be heard in the silence as everyone watched the gory removal. All heads turned back to John Burgess, where he could clearly see defeat in each of their eyes. He had them and there was no going back.

  Chapter 13

  The door to the lab hissed open. Shouts of rage washed over the room. The guard led the man with the golden Windsor knot tie into the room and forced him to his knees.

  “You have your orders,” was all the guard said, before turning to exit. Little more needed be said. The guard stood sentinel outside the exit, should Windsor decide to make his escape.

  Gerand slowly crossed to the center of the room and shot a hand into the space between him and his new subject.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Dr. Richard Gerand. My purpose is to perfect the Mengele Virus for the Zero Day Collective. Oh, but you probably already know that. You might also know precisely why you are here.”

  Gerand clapped his hands and, like a Busby Berkeley number, the room came alive with movement. Two larger technicians forced the man with the tie onto a gurney, strapped him tightly down, and gagged his mouth. A lithe, leggy female handed Gerand a syringe filled with the Mengele Virus. The biologist waved the hypodermic inches from the bulging, terror-filled eyes of the man on the stainless steel table.

  “This is God. This is liquid death and life in one transcendental package. You live, you die, you live again – all thanks to the fluid that is about to traverse the space between this syringe and your blood.”

  Gerand jabbed the needle deep into the thigh of the subject and depressed the plunger.

  “Welcome to Paradise.”

  The man thrashed against his restraints. The movement was so violent the radius and ulna of his right forearm snapped and jutted through his flesh. Blood arched in a fountain from the wound.

  “Get back! We don’t know if the virus is blood born.” With a twist of irony, Gerand held up his arms to ensure his technicians remained out of harm’s way. Once the flow of blood ceased, the arms were lowered.

  The body grew still. The only movement was the continued dripping of blood to the floor. Gerand’s eyes were locked on the clock. The tick and tock of the second hand marched on – counting the moments between life and death and back again.

  Ninety seconds passed.

  Nothing.

  One hundred twenty seconds.

  Nothing.

  Gerand was about to question his methods when a shock raced through the system of the dead man and jolted his eyes open. The familiar sour-milk gaze stared straight ahead. The thing sniffed at the air and jerked its head around with a look that was hunger distilled to its purest form. When one of the younger female technicians gasped, the amplified man snapped its gaping maw her way and fought against his restraints.

  “Sound.” Gerand whispered. “They can’t see, but they can hear. Fascinating. Cage this thing up and take him to C-5 for release. I want this floor decontaminated immediately.”

  Before the blood was removed, Gerand took a sample for further testing. A drop of the infected blood on a slide would be all he needed to know how the virus behaved. Deep within the recesses of his mind, thoughts of evolving the virus danced about. Why not play God? Gerand thought, as he stared into the slide.

  With little conscious thought, Richard’s hand snaked into his lab coat pocket and withdrew his phone. John Burgess’ number was set on speed dial number one. The rough, angry voice picked up on the second chime.

  “This is Dr. Gerand. Your subject is on its way to sector C-5. I used the same ratio as before, so he should last. Do you have any further commands at the moment? Good. I will be running further tests. Should you need, ring me.”

  The phone slid easily back into his pocket, his feet effortlessly carried him into his office. Before he shut the door behind him, he turned to one of the technicians and grinned.

  “Should anyone disturb me, you die.”

  The door slammed shut. The threatened technician jerked to attention in front of the door, sweat and tears racing down her cheeks.

  *

  Once inside the safety of his office, Gerand slid a hidden tile on the floor, pressed his hand against a glass plate, and waited for the sensor to recognize his prints. When the green light flashed and the soft tick of the lock made itself known, he removed his hand and opened the door to the safe.

  Tucked inside the safe, along with various papers and currencies, was a satellite phone capable of full two hundred and fifty-six bit encryption. The phone was Gerand’s only trusted method of communication outside the Zero Day Collective.

  The heft of the phone offered Gerand some semblance of security. He watched the phone’s display as it went through a quick boot sequence. He had the device built specifically for situations such as the one he was caught up in. The syslog messages flew by the screen until a single letter X appeared on the screen. The letter was a reminder to Gerand to ‘trust no one’ – a throwback to the 1990s. The nod to a television phenomenon served a much deeper purpose than a simple reference to an outdated pop culture meme. Gerand knew the only way to stop organizations like the Zero Day Collective was from within.

  However, before they were stopped, they had to be understood; and in that understanding Gerand developed his own, secret agenda.

  Steady as steel fingers tapped out the number on the sat phone. The standard ring was replaced with little more than a muted ticking.
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  “If ever I needed someone.” Without offering a greeting, the woman’s voice posed the security phrase

  “You were there when I needed you.” Gerand replied.

  “What is your status?” The woman’s voice returned.

  “I have procured a sample of the infected blood. I will be running it through analysis and will send you the results immediately.”

  “Did you succeed with the virus?”

  “Yes. The ratio is an exact 2:1. Even the slightest shift, either way, the test fails.”

  “Current status.”

  “There are now two infected males within the walled city. I am working on getting you a direct link to the cameras. This task has proved more difficult than expected. I believe, however, a window of time has opened and I will be able to visit the film studio to deploy the transmit unit.”

  “Very good. I will expect the results of your blood analysis soon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should anything change, notify us immediately. The world is counting on you.”

  “You will not be let down Dr. Michaels.”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  With a soft hiss the sat phone connection was severed. Gerand entered the shutdown sequence on the keypad and replaced the phone inside the safe. Under normal circumstances, there would have been several more steps to ensure the security of his mission. Fortunately the eyes of the beholders were too busy taking in their self-contained apocalypse to bother with the idea that someone could be working to ensure they never succeed.

  The aluminum briefcase was nondescript to the naked eye. Anyone in the field of security would know the case to be nearly impenetrable. The device was set in such a way that should anyone but the owner grasp the handle, the contents inside would be washed in a bath of acid, leaving not a scrap of incriminating evidence behind. The case contained a single piece of tech – the transmitter. All Gerand had to do was make his way into the director’s studio, remove the device, tuck the brilliant piece of tech safely out of site, and switch it on. Once on, the transmitter would immediately send a data stream of packets containing the video signals.