XOM-B

by Jeremy Robinson

  I yank my leg back hard. The woman’s grip is stronger than her shoulder joint and her arm comes free, dangling from my ankle. I roll back, regaining my footing and kick out hard. My foot finds the woman’s chest and sends her toppling back into her undead brethren. Tangled and off balance, the whole group of them fall back, dropping out of the tunnel and instigating a burst of agitated groans.

  More climb to take their place, but I pay them no heed as I turn and pursue the monster quickly closing the distance to Luscious.

  The soldier-zombie is fast. So fast, and agile, that I realize he’s been heavily upgraded, like me. He must have been infected recently, possibly in the Lowers before they were decimated. It doesn’t really matter. All I care about right now is reaching him before he catches Luscious.

  Looking beyond the man, I see Luscious’s light shifting, but not moving quickly. She has no idea what’s coming. Luckily, the speed of sound is still far faster than either I or the zombie can run. “Luscious! Run! They’re coming for you!”

  It’s not 100 percent truth. Just one of them is coming for her, but this single zombie might be more dangerous than twenty of the others. The light ahead bounces about frantically and then shrinks. She’s entered the smaller tunnel, I realize, pushing through it on her stomach. If she’s caught there, she’ll have no way to prevent the monster from biting her leg.

  Except me.

  With a shout of anger, I will my legs to move faster.

  And they do.

  I have no idea how fast I’m running, but I’ve never run quicker, and I’m gaining on the zombie.

  When the soldier reaches the end of the tunnel, he’s just ten feet ahead of me. He exits into the open space at the end where several small tunnels converge, but he doesn’t have to pause to figure out which way Luscious went. Her headlight blazes from the small tunnel directly ahead.

  The soldier dives forward, drawn toward the light.

  He’s halfway in the small tunnel, clawing his way forward, when I catch his feet.

  He flails and kicks, his hard armor slick from moisture. When his limbs start to slide free, I grind my teeth in anger, and squeeze. The upgrades I was created with boost my strength, but the emotion flowing through me seems to supercharge them. The armor clutched in my hands folds inward. With a strong grip on his legs, I pull the soldier from the tunnel and fling him away.

  But he doesn’t collide with the wall, he springs off of it, diving once again for my head. And this time, I don’t fall out of the way.

  I drive my fist into his chest, leaving a three-inch-deep dent and knocking him back against the wall.

  But this is no man, and the strike doesn’t even faze the thing.

  He comes at me again, this time feinting left and then throwing a punch—a punch! I’m totally unprepared for this kind of attack and am struck hard. The impact is jarring and spins me around. I catch myself against the wall, my head buzzing, my vision flickering in and out for a moment. But I don’t let the pain disorientation slow me down.

  I shove off the wall and kick hard and low, striking the zombie’s knee and inverting it. If it feels any pain, it doesn’t express it. The thing just falls forward into my knee as I bring it up hard, driving into the monster’s chin.

  The soldier’s descent reverses course and I let it fall back to the concrete floor.

  I turn my head up toward the ceiling, eight feet above. It’s covered with a network of pipes. I spot a rusted joint, but then my night vision flickers and goes black.

  Quelling a surge of momentary panic, I switch between spectrums. All black.

  I’m blind.

  Or am I?

  I switch to the visual spectrum and activate my headlight. Brilliant white light fills the tunnel system, and my eyes. I can see, but only the visual spectrum. And what I find is disturbing. Just thirty feet back, in the larger tunnel, the horde shambles forward, all of their order and patience replaced by fervent hunger and a mad rush.

  With just seconds to spare, and the soldier pushing himself up onto his good leg, I leap up and take hold of a weak pipe. It bends under my weight and comes free with a yank. I land a half second before the soldier lunges, his attack closer to that of his less impressive counterparts. In that half second, I haul the metal pipe back and strike with all of the force I can muster.

  The steel rod strikes the soldier’s arm first, fracturing the armor. But the blow’s force isn’t reduced as I follow through and bring the steel against the monster’s unprotected head. With a clang and a crunch, the dead man’s head caves in, destroying the mind within, this time for good.

  A moan turns my eyes back to the horde. They are upon me, stumbling from the tunnel, dead eyes locked onto my living body, teeth bared, skin peeling. They’re a horrid group of men and women, decayed and rotting. For a moment, I feel sorry for them. These used to be people, with lives and loved ones and now …

  I dive into the small tunnel, leaving the dead and my sorrow for them behind. The horde follows, but not quickly, as the concept of single-file organization seems to have been forgotten.

  I make quick time through the tunnel, turn right and see Luscious’s light ahead, still moving away. “Second left!” I shout ahead to her and am happy to see her light move in that direction. Running as quickly as I can, catching up to her only takes a minute. She shouts in surprise when I put my hand on her arm, but sighs with relief upon seeing my face. Then she looks concerned, rubbing her hand over my cheek.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “I was punched.”

  “A zombie punched you?”

  “Later,” I say, taking her hand and ducking into a tunnel. The journey back takes ten minutes longer than it did on the way out because I have to change course twice and find a new path. The underground is absolutely alive with the dead.

  As we reach the final stretch of our subterranean journey, the undead find us again, moaning and charging. We run for the still-open hatch.

  “Heap!” I shout, letting him know we’re coming so he doesn’t accidentally shoot us. “Get ready to close the hatch!”

  Assuming he’s heard me, I push Luscious ahead and let her escape first, then I dive through behind her. The metal hatch clangs shut behind us. I roll over as Heap spins the lock back into place. An eruption of angry fists pound on the other side of the door.

  “You were right,” Heap says, offering me one of his big hands, and the other to Luscious.

  “I’m not sure if I got the evidence,” I say. “I was struck. I think my ocular upgrades might have been damaged.”

  Heap looks concerned, but I’m not sure if it’s for me or my lack of evidence. His eyes turn toward my feet. “I think that will work.”

  I look down and find the woman’s severed arm still clinging to my ankle. I yank it free, but don’t discard it. If my recording was damaged, Sir might require more than our testimony, which he doesn’t trust.

  Heap pulls us both to our feet and shoves us toward the open elevator door. I know we’re in a rush, but his actions seem rough. That’s when I notice the impacts aren’t just against the metal hatch, they’re also against the stone wall. As the elevator doors slide shut, the wall cracks.

  We rise up through the tower, each of us lost in silent thought. I’m not sure about Heap and Luscious, but I can’t stop imagining what’s going to happen when that wall breaks. I doubt the dead know how to operate an elevator. But they can climb. And if there are any more of those soldiers … If just one of them got inside, it could move up, floor by floor, infecting everyone it encounters who will then do the same.

  I’m so lost in thought that when I finally look up from the floor and see my grime-covered reflection in the elevator doors, I flinch. I don’t look much better than a zombie. I flinch again when the doors slide open. Unlike my first experience in an elevator, I barely noticed our ascent.

  It takes just minutes to rise through the Spire and reach the Core’s entrance, where four guards now block our path. T
hey grow tense at our approach, no doubt ordered to prevent entry, but when I hold up the undead woman’s arm, they freeze in place and let us pass.

  The doors slide open and I enter the chamber, interrupting Sir in the middle of a serious-sounding speech. His head whips in my direction and upon seeing me, he drives his fist into the table around which the Council sits. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Mohr spins around, sees me and has just the opposite reaction. “Freeman! You’re—”

  Mohr’s words catch in his throat when I toss the dead arm onto the table. It slides to a stop between Mohr and Sir. I don’t mean to be rude. Mohr’s relief at my return is nice. There just isn’t time for it, or for Sir’s agitation.

  I speak loudly, hoping it will make Sir really hear me. “The underground crawls with—”

  An alarm sounds, distant but shrill. It interrupts my words, but speaks for me and provides emphasis to the limb lying on the table.

  I frown. “Too late.”

  24.

  “Report,” Sir says, with a faraway look on his face. He’s once again speaking to someone not present. The control for his communication device must be implanted somewhere, probably in his armor and toggled by a combination of finger twitches or perhaps a button I’m just not seeing him press. I watch his face for some hint at the news he’s receiving, but I’m not sure his frown could get any deeper.

  And then it does. His lips pull down hard on either side. It’s just for a moment, and then gone, replaced by grinding teeth that remind me of the undead. He turns to the massive converging windows and steps closer. “Infrared.”

  A shimmer of energy moves through the glass, shifting the view from visual to infrared spectrums. The view changes to shifting shades of color. Most of the buildings retain their cool solid black color. The vibrant lights decorating the buildings have become a dull shade of purple, not much warmer than the buildings. The relative coolness of the early morning city makes the living stand out in stark contrast to the surroundings. There’s so many of them. Millions of people, moving through the darkness. Rainbow-colored stars.

  I must look confused by the shifting window view because Councilman Mohr steps up next to me and explains. “They’re not windows. This is the view from cameras mounted on the outside of the building. We can see the world through a variety of spectrums from here, just like you can.”

  I didn’t really need to know, but it is fascinating. And it tells me something about Sir and the Council. They need special cameras to see other spectrums. They don’t have ocular upgrades, and if the Council doesn’t, maybe I’m the only one who does. But are they really upgrades? That would suggest I existed without them first, but I’ve been fully upgraded since I first opened my eyes. Of course, that has recently changed.

  “Not anymore.” I motion to the side of my head where the soldier struck me. I’m not sure if the injury is noticeable, so I explain. “I was struck. Hard. I can only see the visual spectrum now.”

  Mohr gasps, but then leans in close, inspecting my face and pushing on the flesh with his fingers. He nods. “It will heal.”

  Upgrades can heal? I wonder, but don’t get to ask.

  “There,” Councilman Deere says, pointing a long green finger.

  I’m not sure what he’s pointing at, but Sir seems to. “Expand sector five forty.”

  The view through the window—screen—rushes forward. The sudden feeling of falling through space twists my insides and the expression on my face.

  Mohr squints at me. “The shifting view is causing you discomfort?”

  “I think nausea is the correct word,” I say.

  “Wonderful,” he says.

  “No, not wonderful.” I’m struck by a realization and look at the group around me. Not one of the Councilmen, Heap or Luscious looks fazed by the sudden shift in view. Why am I the only one?

  “Dear Lord,” Councilman Mohr says. I’m not sure what this means, but I think it’s more slang expressing shock. It’s the first slang I’ve ever heard Mohr use, but it somehow does a good job of revealing abhorrent surprise. Certainly more than shouting, “Abhorrent surprise,” would.

  The view on the screen zooms in 200x with perfect clarity, the same distance I can magnify my upgraded sight. My ocular upgrades seem to have a lot in common with the cameras mounted on the outside of the building. Similar technology I suppose.

  The warm-bodied people are easy to spot, moving quickly in the streets, abandoning their cooler vehicles, which appear to have collided with one another. But the living are not alone. Purple humanoid shapes with hot cores lumber in pursuit.

  An unlucky person, a man I think, stumbles and falls. He’s caught quickly by three of the undead. They set upon him with fury. Everyone in the Core watches the scene play out in silence, but I have no trouble imagining the sounds of this attack. The shrieking. The grinding teeth. The wet slurp of the feast. I’ve heard it all before.

  When the man finally stops twitching, the dead lose interest and rejoin the pursuit of the masses. The man’s warmth fades along with his life, cooling quickly to a dull blue and then purple.

  I sense that someone is about to break the silence, but feel they need to see this for themselves. They need to understand what we’re facing before they can defeat it. If they can defeat it. Sir opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, saying, “It won’t take long.”

  Sir glares at me, but I just motion him back to the view and he complies.

  The purple coloration of the cooling body is nearly black now. But then, in the center of the man’s chest, a flare of color, white at first before fading to red. Warmth spreads through the corpse, radiating out from the body’s core, reddening the limbs before they fade to a light purple. The head flares bright white for a moment and then the man sits up. His movements are stiff, but quick. While he was killed, his limbs were left intact. He has no trouble standing, and while the horde is still emerging, seemingly out of nowhere, he joins them. From victim to killer in seconds.

  “What’s located at this site?” Sir asks. “Where are they coming from?”

  “Drainage pipes,” Councilman Tetra says. He’s in charge of city planning and expansion and is often the coordinator between other professions such as construction and environmental engineering. He would know every inch of Liberty, though I’m not sure how well he knows what lies beneath the city. “For rain.”

  “How are they accessing them?” Sir asks, his voice rushed.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Sir lets out something like a growl and then speaks, but not to anyone in the room. “Spire defenses, engage any target under fifty degrees. Liberty defenses, converge on the Spire, priority alpha. Engage any targets under fifty degrees. Collateral damage acceptable.”

  Collateral damage. This must be a similar order he gave to the soldiers guarding the river. It’s why they pursued us through the city with such abandon. They weren’t concerned about the damage to the city because they’d been ordered not to.

  “Liberty lockdown. Initiation code one, zero, seven, five.” He finishes the string of numbers with a sound that’s almost mechanical.

  “Lockdown?” Councilman Deere says in surprise. “But there are so many people on the streets!”

  “And if just one of those gets inside a building, everyone inside it could be lost,” Sir says.

  “They’ll all be killed,” I say.

  “Reset magnification,” Sir says, and the giant view screens revert to their citywide view, though they remain infrared. Several expanding blobs of cooler bodies blossom around the city. “They’re already dead,” Sir replies, eyes on the city.

  “If they get inside the Cat compound…” Councilman Cat says, looking at Sir. He lets the statement hang, and I’m not sure of the implications, but Sir seems to understand.

  “Security forces in sectors thirty-seven through forty, converge on the Cat compound. Engage anyone who approaches, no exceptions. Collateral damage acceptable.”

 
; I’m going to argue, but Heap takes my arm and shakes his head. Whatever is in the Cat compound must be important. Or dangerous. But then I think of something that I can’t stay quiet about. “The buildings. Don’t they have internal drainage?” All that water used to clean me off had to go somewhere. “And if Liberty was built over one of the Masters’ cities, there could be—”

  “He’s right,” Tetra says, looking mortified. “If the old infrastructure is still intact, there might be ways to access our buildings.”

  “They’re already trying to break down the old walls beneath the Spire,” I add.

  Sir blinks twice, revealing the subtle toggle for his communications, and says, “All building security teams. Seal off, secure and guard all sub-levels. No one goes down or up. Lethal force authorized.”

  “Aim for the head,” Luscious whispers in my ear.

  “What?”

  “Tell him to aim for the head,” she says. “That’s what they did in the movies. Zombies die without brains.”

  She’s right, I realize, thinking about my personal experience with the undead. They can endure all sorts of physical abuse—they’re dead after all—but too much trauma to the head, to their minds, puts them down for good.

  “Aim for the head,” I say. “Sir, tell them to aim—”

  “I heard you!” he screams at me, unleashing his fury. I step away from him, thinking I might have to defend myself, but he reins himself in and speaks again. “All security forces…” He glares at me one more time. “… when engaging targets, aim for the head.”

  He swivels on his feet and heads for the door. “Councilmen, you will remain in the Core until this crisis has ended.” The doors open and he pauses, turning to Mohr. “Keep him”—he thrusts a finger at me—“his guardian and his mod, out of my sight.”

  Sir storms away. The doors slide shut behind him.

  Mohr approaches me as the Councilmen begin talking amongst themselves.

  “You did well,” he says.