I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Gerand gave the idea some thought. It took him no time at all to come to the same conclusion as Doctor Godwin.

  “Fine,” he said to Doctor Godwin. To one of the lab geeks, he said, “Grab enough of your colleagues to carry the necessary material and meet us at the location of the pipe. Doctor Godwin and I will set up a remote detonation device…”

  The young man handed him a smart phone and a tiny plastic sticker.

  “I smuggled a few of these in when I found out they were installing city-wide Wi-Fi for the cameras. This is an NFC tag that I’ve modified to piggy-back onto the wireless signal. You should be able to make use of that and have the phone handle the detonation. That’ll get you all the distance you need. Burgess knocked out cellular communication, but wireless is still intact.”

  Gerand allowed for a grin to cross his face. “Okay everyone, you have your duties – let’s set this party in motion!”

  Chapter 31

  Sonja’s body lay motionless on the pavement, merely yards away. Between us, the beast that took her life had his eyes locked onto me. Blood poured from his glistening red mouth. Sonja’s blood. My brain threatened to tear itself away from reality and head off to some lovely island where zombies were still fiction.

  The car lurched side to side. When I finally managed to return to the moment, I saw the milky-white eyeballs staring into the Hummer, searching for its next meal. The thing looked right at me and bared its blood-stained teeth. A fleshy fist pounded at the window. Thankfully, the glass of the SUV was stronger than undead muscle and bone.

  My heart raced, but not as quickly as my fingers danced through the glove box, the visors, the console…anywhere the Hummer owner might have hidden keys. I came up with nothing. I sat in a military-grade vehicle that could probably transport me the fuck out of this nightmare, and had no way to start it. Had I only paid attention while filming all of those hot-wire scenes.

  I had only one hope – to find a weapon. The longer it took me to escape, the less likely my survival seemed. The monster was roaring loud enough for every member of the walking dead cast and crew to join the fun. One, I could handle. A horde? Not without a body double and a stunt team.

  My eyes dared another glance Sonja’s way. She didn’t re-animate. The gun lay at her side. There was only one choice.

  Slowly, silently, I slid my fingers under the door release and gave a quick tug. A low, muffled thunk was all that escaped the mechanism. My breath momentarily stopped as I waited to see if my attacker heard.

  Oddly enough he abandoned his attack on the vehicle and opted to sway back and forth, his eyes and head titled slightly toward the sky. The director in me begged to take in the moment – wrap the time and place up tightly so it could easily be recalled at a later date. The imagery alone was breathtaking. The danger, however, was equally overwhelming. I shoved the artist deep down into the recesses of my psyche and inched the door open.

  I was never so happy to be exiting a new vehicle as I was now. The door swung open on perfectly silent, well lubed hinges. Had this been lesser automobile, the complaining hinges would have given me away instantly.

  Very carefully, and with my eyes still locked on the zombie, I lowered my right leg to the running board. The monster continued its hypnotic sway and soft, low moan. My left foot touched down on the metal runner. Once I had my balance situated, I lowered my right leg to the ground. A quick check back – zombie still slack jawed and slow-dancing.

  All I had left to do now was make it to the gun and hope like hell I’d filmed enough action movies to figure out how to use the damned thing.

  One foot at a time; one of which was attached to a wounded leg. I slowly limped my way to Sonja’s body.

  The moaning of the zombie stopped. My body froze stiff, my lungs ceased to pull in life-affirming air. Any second the bastard would have its greasy fingers wrapped around my head and its sticky red lips attached to mine – ready to suck my brains through my mouth.

  I turned around. I had to know. Was the son of a bitch about to pounce?

  He was gone. In a panic, my eyes shot around in three hundred and sixty degrees. I couldn’t find him.

  “Oh God,” the whisper escaped my lips before I realized I was about to speak.

  Without another thought, I ran to Sonja’s side. Before I could place my fingers around the gun, the smell of blood and raw meat hit me, hard, upside the head. To make matters worse, my heart knew the blood had been spilled from my dearest friend. I wanted to fall to my knees and weep at her loss. An infinitesimal piece of my heart wanted to deep throat the pistol and let my own blood and brain rain down and mingle with hers.

  But then I saw the backpack. That sight reminded me of the mission. I had to survive. My escape was the only way the truth would find its way into the eyes and ears of the public. If I failed, the lies would be spread – and to what end? Who knew what the Zero Day Collective’s endgame was? I couldn’t leave the fate of the human race to chance.

  As much as it sickened me, I pulled the bag from Sonja and stuffed it inside my own pack. The contents were far more delicate than I had time (or inclination) to respect. A murdering monster was near – there was only time for survival.

  With the pack returned to my shoulders, the next point of focus was the weapon I held in my hand, slick with Sonja’s blood.

  Tears streaked down my face and blurred my vision. I wiped at my eyes and then checked to make sure the gun still had bullets. It amazed me how much I’d learned from directing films. Releasing, checking, and inserting a clip into a gun seemed second nature to me – thanks to how many films?

  Unfortunately I hadn’t directed enough post-apocalyptic cinema to make survival a learned skill.

  I stood and scanned the area. By some miracle of miracles, the location was bereft of the living dead. The repast wouldn’t last long. The resident evil would smell the meat on the ground and know fresh brain was close by. I had to head out.

  Between me and freedom lay a golf course. I leveled the weapon so it was ready to fire and took off. As soon as I was a few yards away, guilt tugged at my gut for not giving Sonja a proper farewell. I fought the urge and continued onward. There would be time for goodbyes and grieving later.

  Ahead of me, I could see the entrance to the golf course. It was typical, upscale fare. I wasn’t a golfer, but I could smell bourgeois from a mile away. The over-groomed landscape, the ode to OCD of a parking lot, the smell of money and the look of lust; it was all here, the town’s last ditch effort to attract new visitors to the evaporating little burg.

  I raced through the concourse and to the first green. Once on the grass, I had to stop and get my bearings. Sonja had been my navigator, one which I desperately needed. I could get lost in my own home.

  Staring across the greens, sand and the water, the wall came into view. There wasn’t time to guess and second-guess the location of the entry. The growing moans made one thing perfectly clear – there was only time to run.

  And so I did.

  My feet carried me faster than my heart and lungs thought possible. There was still pain in my leg, but fear forced the pain deep into the depths of my gut. The cold, moist air of night caressed my cheeks and brought another round of tears to my eyes. From the backpack, the clacking of hardware again reminded me of my mission.

  A nightmare screech put a halt to my forward progress. The sound was everywhere – echoing off walls and wind. One of the monsters was on to me and was near. Again the roar un-hushed the night sky and threatened to force my bladder’s hand.

  There was no way to discern from which direction the noise came. My left hand joined my right to steady the gun. Had this been one of my films, the star would have shouted out a rough I know you’re out there. This was, however, not a movie. One shout was all that the beast would need to find me.

  Another roar rattled the molecules in the air.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking what perfect theatre this was. I couldn’t write
or direct a scene more immediate, more visceral.

  Note. To. Self.

  After a few moments ticked by, I decided there was no other choice but to continue on. If I had any hope of survival, I had to reach the wall.

  The crunch of sand under foot was all it took for the beast to locate me. It released another hate-filled roar and then it was there – standing in front of me. My body froze, remembering silence was my only hope. The zombie sniffed the air and tilted its head to the right and then to the left. It couldn’t smell or hear me.

  But I was caught in the middle of a sand trap. The first step would alert the creature to my location and that would be it.

  There was only one choice.

  Even with both hands wrapped around the grip, the gun trembled.

  The irony of the moment settled in. I had never shot a gun – and the first opportunity to do so was to kill an already dead man. To make matters oh so very worse, I knew I had one chance, one shot. If my first bullet goes wide, the beast would be on me and in me.

  Slowly, I pulled the hammer back.

  Deeply I breathed.

  Silently I prayed.

  Like a trained professional, I fired the shot. The bullet struck home – in the heart.

  I should have been celebrating. But there are rules to killing monsters, rules that I had forgotten. Vampires get staked in the heart. Werewolves are shot with silver. Zombies are shot in the head.

  The undead bastard turned, his useless eyes glaring my way.

  “Fuck,” I whispered just before I took off. The sand crunched as it flew up in a rooster-tail behind me. My feet slipped as they dug in for traction.

  From behind, the beast slammed into me, knocking me face-down into the sand. It’s cold fingers wrapped around my head and slammed my forehead into the sand. It was trying to crack open my skull. I could feel the rough sand ruin the skin on my cheeks. Sand found its way into my eyes. The soft ground, however, was no match for the bone of my skull.

  The beast was strong. I tried to turn myself over, to get a bead on a shot, but the arms insisted I remain face down.

  There must have been just enough sentience left in the brain for the thing to realize my skull wasn’t splitting open. That’s when I felt the weight of the zombie shift and lower. When the stink of its foul breath puffed into my nostrils, I knew what was about to happen.

  I kicked and flailed, but the monster was too much. The teeth sunk into my neck and tore through the flesh. The bite burned like nothing I’d ever felt – as if acid had been dripped onto my skin and found its way into my bloodstream.

  With strength I didn’t know I had I twisted and managed to throw the undead son of bitch off. The muscles of my back were twitching and pulsing, but I still managed to center the pistol sights on the side of the zombie’s head.

  The bullet tore the through temple like the bone had been replaced with papier-mâché. There was no blood spatter, no howl of pain. It was as if a switch was flipped; one minute the thing was on and then it was off.

  Without thinking, I took off. After surviving my first undead melee, there was no time for celebration – there was only time for escape. I sped out of the sand trap and race toward the wall. A Pink Floyd song came to mind.

  Like Roger Waters sang, I better Run!

  Chapter 32

  “John, please tell me you’ve planned for something like this.” L.A. Wenning shouted above the din of moans from outside the headquarters.

  “As a matter of interest…no.” Burgess replied in a curt tone. “But this is thrilling, is it not?”

  L.A. Wenning glared. “The idea of losing my life to your little game offers not one ounce of thrill.”

  Burgess turned to the woman, his eyes and lips drawn tight.

  “Game? You dare refer to my life’s work as a game?”

  Before the moment could escalate, Kriege stepped in, his arms spread wide to hold the fighters at their corners.

  “We do not have time for such pettiness. John, if you have any sense of propriety remaining, you will get us out of this mess. Ms. Wenning, with all due respect, be a lady and shut the hell up. There is no time for bickering at the moment. If you want to wind up into a full-blown cat fight, at least have the common decency to wait until we are not surrounded by the undead!”

  Kriege finally turned his attention to Burgess. “In the meantime, Mr. Burgess, do tell me you have a plan.”

  John Burgess grinned to shame a deviant teen.

  “I always have a plan. Everyone, please step away from the walls and place your hands on the tables in the center of the room. Do not bother asking why, just do as I say.”

  Looks where exchanged, but no one questioned the demand. With every hand touching the top of one of the centralized tables, Burgess tapped out a few commands on his tablet.

  “And here…we…go!”

  The lights flickered and dimmed as the sound of sparking electricity filled the night air.

  “What is…”

  “Is that ozone I smell? Oh dear God…now I smell cooking meat.”

  The moaning sound began to thin out as it began to dawn on the occupants of the room what had just happened.

  Burgess tapped another command out on his tablet.

  “You may release your hands from the table.” Burgess looked around the room. “Was that a neat trick or what? Oh, I do hope the smell of cooked rotten flesh doesn’t offend you.”

  Glares were exchanged, but not words. Everyone in the room was far too thankful to still be counted among the living to allow anger to become part of the equation.

  “Unfortunately, that was a one-time trick; sort of like a Smart Bomb in that old game Defender.”

  “Actually, that’s not exactly true.” L.A. Wenning interrupted. “You got three Smart Bombs in that game and could even collect more.”

  Burgess grinned at Wenning. “Why L.A., I had no idea you were a gamer!”

  “I grew up a Catholic school girl in the eighties. What else did we have to do besides each other’s hair and go to the arcade? Besides, it was the only place to meet boys and hear good music. The first time I ever heard Duran Duran was when I set the high score for Galaga.”

  Burgess tossed a strained glance at Wenning. “Thank you for sharing.”

  “Piss off, John.” Wenning flopped back into her chair.

  “What now, John?” asked Kriege.

  John Burgess straightened his tie and coat. “What now is that we continue to let the events unfold before us. There is still much to be done.”

  “No, John, there isn’t.” Kriege slammed a fist down on the table before him. “This entire town is now the walking dead. It seems to me, we are the only survivors. How much longer will that hold true? Do we have the ability to survive such an attack? Look at us? We’re not fighters. I’ve never held a gun in my life and I have no intention of starting now.”

  Burgess kicked back, placed his feet up on the table, and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “Then you’ll die here. If you’re not willing to fight, you accept that fate. Myself? I plan on fighting and I will not go down. I’m trained and have far too much yet to do in this life.”

  Kriege stood. “You arrogant – ”

  “Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t if I were you. May I be blunt? I believe I’ve earned the right to be fairly forthright. Wouldn’t you say? You are each here because of one thing – power. When I proposed the Zero Day Collective, you each jumped at the opportunity to snatch at this new global, golden ring. What we have here is a way to monetize the apocalypse. Who doesn’t want that? It’s perfect. We will have not only created a life-altering demand, we will have the only supply to meet that demand in the world. It’s simple economics that will bring us each gains the likes we’ve never seen.”

  L.A. Wenning glared again. “I thought this was nothing more than a lunatic scheme to avenge your mother’s death.”

  “That, my dear Ms. Wenning, is the icing on a rather extraordinary cake.”

  “What
’s the next move?” Kriege demanded.

  Burgess finally dropped his feet back to the floor and straightened his tie. “We wait.”

  “For what?” Wenning nearly shouted.

  “To make sure the undead die.”

  “Listen to yourself, John,” again Wenning went on the attack. “You’re quite mad. We wait much longer and the damned out there will be knocking down the walls of this building, with the taste of our brains on their tongues.”

  Burgess grinned. “Maybe so. But, in the end, I will prevail. This world, and everything on it, will bow to me. I will perch atop the food chain on a throne made of human remains and there will never be a flicker of doubt who owns everyone and everything.” John Burgess stood and made eye contact with everyone in the room. “And now, it’s time to know which side of this war you intend to join.”

  Not a syllable was voiced. The only sound was the distant moaning carried through the darkness on the cold wind.

  “Do you hear that?” Burgess grinned. “That is the sound of the new world currency. Fear. Once we’ve perfected that, the world is ours to plunder.”

  Kriege took in a deep breath and released a slow sigh. “What, exactly, is your plan for getting us out of here safely?”

  “As I’ve already stated, the endgame here is entropy – plain and simple. The undead have a very short shelf life. Once they expire, we’re free to walk out of this location and head back to the main headquarters. Until then, we wait it out in this impenetrable bunker.”

  “There are already glaring flaws in your logic.” L.A. Wenning pursed her lips before continuing on. “First, the undead are not dying. Second…never say never. You claim this ‘bunker’ to be ‘impenetrable’, yet the very nature of the situation completely brushes aside all logic. You’ve brought the dead back to life. How can you claim any shred of normalcy at the moment? Logic no longer applies.”