Inside the room stood a middle-aged man, unarmed, with seven others arrayed behind him. They most definitely weren’t unarmed. Shotguns, pistols, hunting and assault rifles, knives, machetes, and even a garden scythe were visible in the hands or holsters of those present.
The quartet was ushered inside, leaving the five who escorted them on sentry duty just beyond the doorway.
The man in the center of the room spoke. “My name is Geoff. I’m told y’all wanted to see me. Why?”
“As I told Tony, My name is Byron Daniels. My friends call me Chick.”
This pronouncement was met with stony silence.
Daniels looked around the room. “Is this all the people you have?”
Geoff bristled. “It’s enough to feed you four to the Zoms if y’all don’t get to the point.”
Daniels held up placating palms. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I wasn’t criticizing. I was hoping you had more, because you’ll need them.”
Geoff’s face turned beet red. “Are y’all threatnin’ us? Seriously? The four o’ y’all?”
“No, not at all.” Daniels sighed. “Now you know why I’m a soldier and not a diplomat. Look, there is a threat, but it’s not from us, it’s from the Zoms.”
The room burst into laughter.
“No kiddin’. Son, if y’all ain’t as brain-damaged as those damn Zoms, I suggest you get straight to the point. Another minute and I’m gonna kick y’all’s ass to the curb—minus your weapons.”
“Okay. Fine.” Daniels took a breath to compose his thoughts. “You know how dangerous the Zoms are, obviously.” The other man just stared at him. “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”
“Really. Thousands of man-eating Zoms roaming about lookin’ to eat us alive, but it’s gonna get worse? Pray tell, how’s that gonna happen?”
“The Zoms, at least some of them so far, are arming themselves. There’s no telling how many there’ll be eventually.”
The room again erupted in laughter.
“Son, y’all’ve obviously been out in the sun too long. Armed zombies. Really.” He laughed again. “Maybe I oughta keep y’all around as my court jester.” He looked around at his people. “Can y’all picture it? Zoms with machine guns mowin’ people down and eatin’ ‘em?”
They laughed again.
“Not guns. Just knives, and machetes.”
“Son, I’ve killed enough Zoms, and seen enough of them kill my people, to know the only weapons they use are their teeth and hands.”
“Sir, I’ve been killing Zoms just as long as you have, and until a few days ago I would have agreed with you one hundred percent. But that’s all changed.”
He went on to describe what they had seen.
“Young man, I’m sure y’all just misconstrued what ya saw, or it was a trick of the light, or sumthin’.”
“No, sir. We all saw it.” The rest of the quartet nodded. “More importantly, we all heard it. They were going down the street hooting and grunting and shrieking like every other damn zombie pack. No humans that have survived this long would be reckless enough to make that much noise.”
That got Geoff’s attention. “Son, if y’all ain’t as crazy as a March hare in June, then we’ve got us a problem.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you, sir. We’ve done pretty well for ourselves the past few months. But this development has us scared. And things are about to get a whole lot scarier. If one pack starts using weapons, that means they’re capable of learning. And that means other packs can learn, too. If that happens, we’ll need a much bigger army than this.”
“Shit, son. That ain’t good. That ain’t good at all.”
Chapter Seven
Moe was a smart Zom. He still remembered how to count to ten. The rest of his pack sensed that he was smarter than they were, even if they didn’t really understand what that meant. He usually went on ahead to scout out an area, because he could somehow explain to the others what he saw, using grunts, gestures, and scratches in the dirt.
Today, he hid behind a low garden wall watching the battle down the street. More-than-ten members of another pack attacked more-than-ten foods in a moving vehicle. The foods fought with shiny things, but so did the other pack.
Moe had never seen a pack use shiny things to fight with before.
He watched closely, but couldn’t really see well from that distance. He moved closer, house by house, until he had a good vantage point. He looked closely at what the other pack held in their hands. Some shiny things were long and some were short. All made the foods bleed.
Moe had seen some of the strange foods before. They had killed a rival pack in minutes, using shiny things. And now this pack was using shiny things to kill the foods.
Shiny things were good.
Moe wanted to know where the other pack had gotten their shiny things. After the other pack had finished killing the foods and began dragging them back to their den, Moe followed at a distance.
The pack disappeared inside a building. Moe knew it wouldn’t be safe to follow them. How to find some shiny things? Thinking wasn’t really something he did well; yet, sometimes a thought did occur to him—like a flash of lightning in the darkness. He pursued the trail of that thought until it came into focus, even though it made his head hurt.
If the other pack lives here, maybe they found the shiny things nearby.
He took off running, looking for somewhere shiny things might be found. He zigzagged from block to block until he spotted something shiny in the distance. It was merely a glass window reflecting the afternoon sun, but he didn’t know that.
When he reached the shiny window, he peered inside. There were many shiny things inside. He entered through the open door and looked at the shiny things. Most weren’t pointy or sharp. After a while he found some that were.
He filled his arms with letter openers, scissors, and heavy paperweights and raced out of the stationery store to take them back to the den.
Then he’d have to figure out how to explain it all to the pack without words.
* * * *
Platoon Regulator BlexJasp couldn’t wait to get started. His hands had been tied until now, with the restriction on how much damage his men could do. They had been limited to only hand weapons, for fear of damaging something vital to the infrastructure.
They still had that restriction, but at least the range of weapons at his disposal had been widened. He still couldn’t use heavy weapons that might level a building or destroy an important power linkage somewhere. They could, however, take stronger measures as far as antipersonnel weapons were concerned.
One of BlexJasp’s favorite weapon for urban warfare was the flamethrower. It would shoot fiery streams of viscous fluid that would stick to the enemy and roast him alive. If it took down a block of buildings in the process, so much the better. That often drove out more of the enemy he was tasked with eliminating.
Unfortunately, that option was unavailable to BlexJasp on this planet, due to the thrice-be-damned infrastructure. However he had gotten permission to use a modified version, called the VranTan’s Breath, named after a mythical leathery-skinned flying demon that raided villages and burned them to the ground with his fiery breath. It fired a stream of tiny magnesium pellets covered in a waxy coating. An igniter ring around the tip of the barrel melted the coating as the pellets exited the barrel. They ignited upon contact with air and burned intensely for a few seconds before being consumed. Because the pellets tended to spread out quite a bit, it wasn’t a precision weapon. It was, however, ideal for riot suppression or indigene elimination.
The weapon was vehicle-mounted. This allowed his men to toast those vicious indies at a reasonable distance, before they could reach the vehicle. He didn’t have to risk more of his men by having them fight hand-to-hand. He had lost enough men already.
Of course, there was a risk of setting buildings ablaze with the VranTan’s Breath, but it was much less of a risk because the lightweig
ht pellets burned out quickly and had a shorter range than that of the flamethrower. Plus, he had a second vehicle following the first with a fire-suppressant-foam cannon on it. Should any fires start, they would be quickly extinguished.
BlexJasp smiled. Yes, he was really looking forward to the sweet smell of roast indigene in the morning…
* * * *
Geoff Meisner and his two lieutenants, Sophie Andersson and Paul Ramirez, sat across a card table from Daniels and Chrissy, discussing what to do about the double threat of the Zoms and the aliens. The roar of the generator running down the hallway, accompanied by the loud hum from the refrigerator by the door, forced everyone in the storeroom to speak up to be heard over the din.
“We just don’t have the wherewithal to take on aliens. It’s hard enough just stayin’ out of the Zoms’ way.” Geoff said.
Daniels nodded. “I don’t disagree. There’s no way we can take on the aliens with just us. We’d need an army, a big one. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep an eye on the aliens, gather intel, learn their strengths, and—hopefully—weaknesses. That way, if there ever comes a time when we can build an army, we won’t be going in blind. Hell, we don’t even know how many aliens there are. There could be millions, but maybe there’s only a few dozen. How would we know?”
“We don’t, obviously. But we just don’t have the manpower to cover the city, not with having to dodge them Zoms and forage for food and other supplies. Maybe if we had a few hundred people, but between yours and mine, we have exactly twenty-one. That ain’t gonna cut it, not by a longshot.”
“You’re right,” Daniels said. “We don’t have enough people. That’s why I propose scouting other parts of the city for more people we can recruit. We need an army. How do you build an army? One recruit at a time. Besides, even if we never find enough people for a proper army, the more we have, the stronger we’ll be. Wouldn’t fifty or a hundred people be better able to fend off a pack of Zoms than twenty?”
“Y’all make a some good points. But that many people will require a lot more supplies than we have. I’m not sure there’s enough of everything in this area to support a hundred or more people. Plus, this basement ain’t big enough to house everyone. We’d need more space, something fortified. And we’d have to somehow stay below the radar of the aliens.”
“True enough. I suggest a division of labor. My team can do the scouting and recruiting, while your team fans out looking for more space and supplies. We can keep in touch with walkie-talkies.”
Geoff held out his hand and smiled. “Son, I think we just came to an accord.”
* * * *
Dr. ZemBleth was excited. “Commander, you wanted me to tell you if I found anything that we might be able to use against the indigenes.” He paced back and forth in front of the examination table containing a Zom.
FronCar couldn’t get a good look at the subject, because the doctor kept getting in the way. However, the indigenes were similar enough in general appearance to the Drahtch that he could tell this one was a female. Clearly, though, there was one major difference between indigenes and Drahtch. No Drahtch female would be walking around loose, rather than in a breeding creche. Perhaps the indigene females escaped their creches when civilization collapsed.
The pacing was getting annoying. “Yes, of course. What have you found?”
ZemBleth finally stopped moving. “You’ve been good enough to keep me supplied with live subjects. At first, we decontaminated them for safety, until we determined that there are no germs here directly compatible with our biology. So now they come to me just as they were captured: filthy and smelly. I document their appearance both before and after I experiment on them, for comparative purposes.”
“Yes, yes. I know. I’m very busy, Doctor. What are you trying to tell me?”
“I was just coming to that. You see how this creature has dirt on its face, but no Drahtch blood on it?”
“Of course. Clearly, we captured it before it could attack any of our people.”
“Quite right. But many of the indigenes that are brought to me do have blood around their mouths.”
“Of course.” Would this fool’s droning never end? “What’s your point?”
Now the doctor looked annoyed. “Commander, if you would kindly stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you.”
FronCar threw up his hands. “Very well. Proceed.”
“Thank you. As I was saying, many have our blood around their mouths. But I noticed that some also have blisters or sores in and around the blood. And a few have died after arriving. Of course, I’m only beginning to investigate the biology of these fascinating creatures. In many ways, they are very similar to us, and in others, quite different. So it’s a challenge to figure out why certain things happen during testing and others don’t. This situation with the sores, for example, was quite puzzling at first.” He paused, as if awaiting a response from the commander.
FronCar obliged. “At first?”
“Yes. Until I suddenly had an idea. What if the indigenes are allergic to our biochemistry? After all, they didn’t evolve eating Drahtch. So it’s not surprising that our flesh would be problematic for their digestive systems.”
FronCar pursed his lips in thought. “Allergic. That is interesting. But how does that help us?”
“If it were just a matter of hives, it wouldn’t. But what if some of them are extremely allergic?” He let that thought hang in the air for a moment. “I tested a number of subjects with very small samples of our blood, looking for reactions, until I found this one.” He gestured at the indigene on the table.
“Watch what happens when I give it a larger amount of blood, similar to what it would get from a meal of Drahtch flesh.” He took a squeeze bulb full of blood and squirted it a bit at a time into the female’s mouth.
She swallowed greedily until it was all gone.
After a few seconds her lips began to swell up and blisters formed on her cheeks and jaw. Then she began sneezing nonstop. Her belly distended and she belched. After another minute, her eyes rolled back and she went into convulsions, thrashing as much as the restraints holding her to the table would allow. Her back arched and she strained against her bonds until it looked as if her veins would burst. Then, she collapsed, as limp as a thys noodle. Medical alarms sounded and sensors beeped and squawked until the doctor turned them off.
“This is the extreme example I was looking for to verify my hypothesis. Most indigenes don’t seem to show any allergic reaction, and even among those that do, the reaction in most is muted. However…” He paused as if for dramatic effect. “However, if I can isolate the exact chemicals in our biology that cause this extreme reaction, I may be able to create a treatment that combines a viable hybrid of indigene DNA and Drahtch DNA.” He looked at FronCar as if expecting thunderous applause.
The commander frowned. “How does that help us?”
Dr. ZemBleth’s face fell for a moment. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re not in the medical field.” Then he brightened again. “If I can make such a hybrid, it would give us the possibility of modifying a virus that once introduced into the indigene population would create a hyperallergic reaction that would spread from one creature to another, killing thousands, maybe millions of them. Wouldn’t it make your job that much easier?”
FronCar’s face finally lit up in understanding. “Now you’re talking my language. If you can create such a virus, I’ll have my men distribute it far and wide. It most certainly would help in the colonization efforts. But is it even possible, combining Drahtch DNA with these creatures’ DNA? How likely is it that we have anything in common?”
The doctor shrugged. “I won’t know if it’s possible until I do a lot more research into the matter. But just taking a quick scan of their DNA, it’s surprisingly similar to our own. Oh, not close enough that we could interbreed, MemKar forbid, but we both are carbon-based, we breathe oxygen, we have organs that perform similar functions, etc. There is an almost infinite nu
mber of possible arrangements of the components that make up DNA, but once you focus on a specific function—oxygen absorption, for example, or neuron transmission—the number of possibilities drops dramatically. Our medical computers can analyze Drahtch DNA and develop targeted treatments for a given patient based on their unique DNA. We’re only just beginning to investigate indigene DNA, but I’m confident that given time, our systems can find commonalities between the two types of DNA and find a way to infuse theirs with small amounts of ours in such a way that we can transfer the hyperallergic reaction to any indigene we dose with it. We just need to slow the reaction down enough that the subject has time to spread the DNA around via bodily fluids before expiring. That would create a more effective transmission protocol.”
FronCar nodded in thought. “I know it’s too early for a firm estimate of when you might be able to perfect such a treatment, but can you give me a ballpark idea? Weeks, months, years?”
“As you say, it’s too early. I don’t yet know for certain if it’s even possible. However, if it is, I imagine we could have something ready to test in the wild, so to speak, in the weeks-to-months timeframe.”
“Excellent!” FronCar smiled. “Imagine that. Conquering a planet by allergy.” He laughed. “If you can accomplish that, Doctor, I suspect you’ll gain a spot in the medical history books.”
That idea brought a smile to Dr. ZemBleth’s face as well.
Chapter Eight
“Look out!” Jesse fired off a round past Chrissy’s shoulder and put a hole in the Zom’s face. The creature’s screech stopped instantly and he pitched forward onto the front of the car Chrissy had ducked behind. The Zom slid sideways down the car and hit the street with a thud.
“Thanks, Jesse,” she said with a grateful smile. Then, “Damn it! Here comes some more.”
Aliens Versus Zombies Page 7
