Phoenix Protocol- the Middletown Omnibus

by Brent Abell

  “Let’s go, Bob,” Lars said, nodding toward the tour bus.

  Bob nodded back, and they took off to the bus.

  ***

  The zombie’s head exploded when Chuck stuck the barrel under its chin and fired. The entire top disintegrated in a shower of hair, blood, and brains. It rained gore down on Chuck, and his grin widened. He was the most badass mother fucker in the world, and he wanted all the undead to know it. The zombie wobbled before him, and Chuck kicked it in the chest, laughing as it tumbled to the ground. Smoke still curled out from the top of the ragged cranium wound.

  The other few zombies noticed Lars and Bob rushing toward them and refocused their attention. Seizing the moment, Chuck tried to open the bus.

  ***

  Lars watched Chuck try to open the bus door, and he tugged on it frantically. The door finally broke free, and he scampered up inside, slamming the door behind him. The zombies heard the door and homed in on the noise.

  “That motherfucker,” Lars spat and stopped.

  The engine roared to life, and the headlights switched on. When Lars heard the beeping of the bus shifting into reverse, he exploded in anger. It didn’t matter the zombies were ignoring them and focusing on the commotion of the bus, but the fact remained Chuck was hanging them out to dry.

  “Seriously?” Bob huffed behind Lars.

  “Seriously.”

  “The coast is clear to run out to the street. I’m curious about what it’s like out there anyway,” Lars said.

  Bob placed his hands on Lars’ cheeks and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Let’s fucking blow this joint. I hope that asshole gets what he deserves.”

  They stood still for a moment as the bus backed away from the dock and turned out toward the street. Chuck gave them one last horn blow and took off away from the arena. The zombies followed the bus while Lars and Bob headed out to the street.

  ***

  Chuck spun the wheels, and they barked as they caught purchase on the asphalt. Tearing away from the arena, he knew the city wasn’t going to be the best place to go, so he turned north and tried to drive as far away from New York City and New Jersey as he could get. He looked up out of the front windshield and saw the three jet fighter before he heard their engines roar overhead.

  “Good thing, I’m heading the other way, boys!” Chuck hooted and stomped on the accelerator. The bus was bigger than anything he’d driven before, but it was comfortable and offered him a place to live as he navigated the new frontier.

  The riots raged in the streets, and he casually honked as he sped by trying to put as much distance between him and his conscious as possible. He cranked the air conditioner and felt the blood soaking his hat congeal and dry in his hair. Grabbing the bill, he tore it free from his scalp and tossed it in the passenger seat.

  He felt something drip down his face, but it didn’t seep into his tear ducts until he was safely away from the downtown area and the arena.

  Once it did run into his eye a few minutes later, he felt warm and began to turn the air conditioner on full-blast.

  ***

  Lars and Bob walked up the ramp to the street and saw the fires already spreading across the city. On the other side of the bay, New York City burned a bright orange. Flames danced from building to building and raced across the bridges to New Jersey. In the arena’s parking lot. Cars jammed the exits trying to escape the flood of the undead washing over the vehicles. Screams echoed in the night, and death answered the lucky ones. The rest joined the zombie horde in their quest to slake their hunger.

  Bob sat down and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. After he fished a lighter from the other pocket, he lit it and took a long drag from it. Tilting his head back, he tried to blow out the smoke in rings, but they looked like ovals and eggs instead.

  “I need to practice that,” Bob mumbled.

  “I thought you quit,” Lars questioned.

  Bob coughed up some smoke and laughed. “You thought…,” he began and tailed off.

  “What is it?”

  “I was quitting the band to make it home for good, and now I’ll never make it back.”

  Lars scanned the world around him and felt it slipping away. “We’ll be good.”

  The three jets raced above their heads, and before the sound followed them, they watched the three black shapes fall from the wings. They hit in unison as the bombers peeled away and shot off to the north from where they came.

  “Three riders of the apocalypse,” Bob said.

  The shapes drew closer to the ground.

  “What about the fourth rider?” Lars asked.

  “He’s already here, my friend.”

  When the explosion rocked the earth, and the cloud spread out over the city. Both men watched the fallout speed toward them.

  “God speed, Lars,” Bob said.

  Lars offered Bob his hand, and the two men shook. The handshake became an embrace. They both sobbed and tensed as the first blast of heat hit them and scorched them to the bones. When the second blast hit like a tidal wave, they were spared any more pain and went off to meet their maker.

  The world grew dark and silent in the aftermath.

  5

  After the Show:

  The New Order

  The Huey landed at the top-secret airbase, and Victoria Davis remained strapped in her seat. She’d seen what the military had done, and anger burned deep in her. They were going to take and take until someone did something about it. First, her cousin and Middletown, Indiana, were burned to the ground. Now, they’d nuked Manhattan to cover for their crimes.

  “What the hell did you do?” she yelled at the general.

  General Harris leaned over and patted her knee. “We didn’t do shit, but a sleeper terrorist cell was activated and detonated a dirty bomb in Manhattan. Right now, DHS and the military are locking down the area to make sure the guilty are brought to justice, and the people are brought supplies in this dark hour,” he explained with a smirk.

  “You son of a bitch! They were American people!” She said, knocking his hand from her knee.

  Harris got close and poked a finger in her chest. “I had to contain what your fucking boss couldn’t.”

  Victoria backed into her seat to get away from him. He did have a point. If Markus Franke and the rest of Xen Pharmaceuticals hadn’t royally screwed the pooch, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “What now?” she asked, regaining her composure.

  “Now, we head to the secret underground bunker made for these kinds of emergencies. For your help with Markus and Xen, I want to officially offer you a spot in the bunker to ride the storm out.”

  Victoria thought about it for the briefest of moments. “Fine, count me in.”

  “Good, good. Now, let’s hop on the plane over there and hit the skies before the fallout blows this way,” Harris said and marched to the plane.

  Victoria heard the jet engines whine and begin to fire up. Reaching into her pocket, she placed a finger on the vial she managed to spirit away from Xen, and she smiled. Revenge would be so sweet.

  ***

  When the rolling cloud of debris hit the tour bus, Chuck almost threw-up. The bus slammed into another car on the side of the street and came to a stop. Sweat poured from him and felt like he was on fire. He unbuckled his seat belt and tried to crawl to the back of the bus when something started pounding on the door.

  “Hello? Are you okay?” a voice called out in the debris field.

  When they opened the door, Chuck looked at them with his hungry eyes and pounced.

  Click…

  …To anyone out there, this is one of the last ham radio stations going. The infection is out of control, and those of us alive are growing few and far between. We are trying to get a place staged for survivors to head. We will have more information once we finalize plans. The government has fallen, and on our last communication, we found out Washington is in flames, and the dead have taken over. I repeat, stay tuned to your radio for the
Survivor’s Underground Network for...

  Click...

  On the Burning Wings of Gods

  Click…

  We interrupt the regularly scheduled program for this breaking news. A massive explosion tore through mid-town Manhattan this evening, and the destruction has been described by eye-witness report as being biblical in proportion. The U.S. military has already sent troops in with radiation suits to determine if a dirty bomb exploded or what caused the blast. Since terrorism is suspected, the DHS has blocked all exits and entrances into the city. Marshall Law is also being declared as the governor has activated the National Guard to oversee…

  Click…

  1

  “Light that fucker up!” Bryce Williams screamed before slamming another beer down his throat. He smiled and watched his girlfriend, Jade, cheer along with the crowd. Her lithe body moved with the music, and she swayed back and forth. Bryce wanted to take Jade back to the tent and have some alone time, but the burning would be happening an hour after the sun set in the west.

  “Oh, baby, I’m glad you came here with me,” Jade said. She slid over in front of Bryce and moved her backside against his body.

  People milled around the towering wooden figure in the middle of the field. A black business suit-like shroud covered the character, and a white hood adorned the head. Large nooses hung limply from its neck. People ran up to the effigy tugging on the ropes dangling to the ground. Each time a festival attendee rushed up to yank on the noose, the crowd erupted in cheers.

  “I’m hot; you want to go and get another beer?” Bryce asked Jade.

  Jade turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You just want a beer?” she whispered, nibbling at his ear.

  Bryce smiled and pulled her closer to him. The oppressively humid air soaked them in sweat, and he loved the way her dark nipples showed through her damp white shirt. Tightness grew in his tan cargo shorts, revealing the need to visit the tent had become urgent, but the action around the burning-man rose to a feverish pitch. He didn’t know if the crowd could hold out until sunset when the Unrestival’s marquee event took place; the symbolic torching of corporate America in the form of a wood and wool POTUS clone. A few quilters, from the arts and crafts area, put together a wig to make it look like the fallen businessman who currently occupied the White House like a nightmare.

  The band on stage thanked the cheering crowd and exited to the left where Bryce could make out Jason Keller and Grant Franklin; two of the stars from his favorite show, Eternal Darkness. They hung around surrounded by a few girls in bikini tops, and a small group of guys Bryce assumed where their security. The music stopped, but he still bobbed his head to a beat only he heard. Jade kept writhing against him and didn’t mind it when the band stopped playing. Both found themselves lost in the moment. She turned to him, and they gazed into each other’s eyes. In the middle of thousands of people, they felt like the only two in Woodstock, New York. They originally planned on hitting the city for the big FLXS concert, but now they thought the festival had been the better choice.

  “Tent?” Jade asked.

  “Yes, tent…now” Bryce replied.

  The lovers pushed their way out of the crowd to the vast field where hundreds of tightly packed tents and campers made it appear like a migrant city. A news crew panned their cameras past them, but they didn’t care; they had other things on their minds.

  ***

  The private jet soared high above New York’s airspace, escaping the fallout from the bombs detonating in the city. Victoria Davis sat in her seat, glaring at General Harris. Her finger clutched the vial deep in her pocket tightly. She gripped it so hard; she grew afraid she’d break open the glass container contaminating everyone on the plane with the Phoenix Virus.

  “You seem tense, Ms. Davis,” General Harris said from his plush leather seat. A cigar hung from his lips, and thick smoke curled around his head. He picked up the highball glass in his armrest and took a sip of the bourbon.

  “How long till we get to the Center?” Victoria asked.

  “Oh come on now, we’ve only been off the ground for a few minutes.”

  “It seems like an eternity,” Victoria huffed.

  “Now, now, is that any way to talk to the guy who saved you from being vaporized? I thought you’d be grateful for all I’ve done for you,” Harris replied.

  “Yeah, you’ve done a lot for everyone, haven’t you? Zombie viruses and nuclear winter all sound like things the people were asking for.”

  Harris turned and jabbed his finger in her chest. “You best learn to respect my position and what I can do for you. The Center will be a place we can ride this storm out for years if need be.”

  Victoria laughed.

  “What the hell do you find so funny?” Harris asked. His voice was changing from calm and collected to angry and irritated.

  “Ask Middletown how much you’ve done for them. Wait; better yet, fucking ask Manhattan how much you’ve done for them. They’d answer you, but they’re all either fucking dead or zombies,” Victoria said, raising her voice.

  She looked out the plane’s tiny window to the trees below. It contrasted with the city where she lived and worked. The city grew up like a towering concrete and steel forest instead of wood and leaves. Harris clinked the ice in his glass, and she glared back at him with disdain.

  “I did it for my country,” Harris final replied.

  The plane bucked and shook. Victoria grasped her armrest as her life depended on it. The plane smoothed out but shook violently again. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore the turbulence.

  “We are experiencing some turbulence, but we should be out of the worst of it,” a voice crackled over the intercom system.

  “See, you can relax, Victoria,” Harris tried to comfort her.

  A loud noise shrieked from the right-wing. Victoria looked over and watched the thick black smoke pouring out from the engine. Immediately, the plane dropped altitude. The nose dipped toward the ground as the oxygen masks dropped from the overheads. Victoria grabbed one and put it on her face. The pressure in the cabin changed as the plane continued to fall from the sky. The fresh oxygen flowing through the mask helped to calm her, but another loud popping came from the left side.

  Victoria knew what the silence from the cabin meant; they’d lost the other engine. The plane went into a tailspin. She felt the pilot fight the free-fall, and Harris sat in front of her in stoic silence. He did not move or react except putting on his oxygen mask. Braving a peek out the window, she saw the woods below growing bigger and bigger.

  The plane leveled out slightly but slammed into the treetops. The impact jarred Victoria in her seat, and she blacked out when the thick smoke choked her as bright orange flames consumed the small plane.

  ***

  Jason punched Grant on the shoulder and laughed. They both had roles on one of the highest-rated shows on television, and they loved the spotlight. The two girls dancing next to them didn’t seem to notice the music had stopped, but Jason knew they didn’t care about the concert or the festival. Hell, he didn’t either; he wanted to make sure the media saw him at Unrestival burning capitalism to the ground. Jason didn’t agree with most of the festival’s message, but he knew the Hollywood elites ate it up. He understood the game enough to know being seen at the festival might go a long way to getting the more prominent movie roles he coveted.

  “Your boys and that reporter chick are here, my friend,” Grant chided Jason. He returned the shoulder punch and laughed.

  “Dude, she is so hot,” Jason replied.

  “I can’t see you and Maria Gonzalez at all. If I did, I bet Hannah would beat the living shit of you.”

  “Grant, you know she’s been cheating on me with for months now. Besides, it’d be worth it for a shot at Maria,” Jason said.

  “Let’s go, lover boy,” Grant teased.

  The two actors snaked their way through the drunken crowd while the next band got their gear set up on stage. They ste
pped over concert-goers sprawled out in the trampled grass and what seemed like a metric ton of discarded empty beer cans and bottles. The sea of bodies they swam through was like a high-tide of deplorable people. Some people passed out in the bright sun, a few passed around joints, and others either threw punches or were fornicating in public. Jason thought he’d be used to such displays being from California, but the atmosphere at Unrestival disgusted him.

  A heavy-set man covered in tattoos bumped into Jason, and the sweat of another person touching him freaked him out. Even though he’d worked with Grant and been friends for years, he never let him know he was a big germophobe. In between takes, he’d rush to his trailer and run his hands under scalding hot water to get the thought of touching someone else out of his mind. He didn’t have the same feelings when it came to women, but he would get to know them and their cleaning regimen before even holding hands or planting an innocent kiss on the cheek.