Aliens Versus Zombies

by Mark Terence Chapman

  He was in combat mode; thoughts of mercy never entered his mind. They were enemy combatants; besides, he had no way to take and keep injured prisoners. Leaving them behind meant two more enemy soldiers to come after them at a later time.

  The team took the opportunity to collect weapons. They hadn’t had a chance to inspect them before. Maybe they could turn them against the aliens.

  They also checked out the body armor. It looked to be matte black plastic, but rapping on it produced a hollow sound more like metal would make. But even after ten minutes of checking, they couldn’t find a way to detach the armor. Whatever mechanism it used to secure all the parts wasn’t immediately apparent.

  They couldn’t afford to delay any longer. The team left with their spoils and jogged up the subway tunnel after the rest of their group, carrying duffel bags containing seven alien energy weapons.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When ChibNorl’s squad failed to report in on schedule, Platoon Regulator BlexJasp wasn’t unduly concerned. In the heat of the moment it was easy to overlook such things. But after another hour, he called the subregulator. Receiving no response, BlexJasp tried several of the other soldiers’ frequencies. No go.

  Now he was concerned.

  He used the transponders inside the vehicles to locate them. Then he called up a live feed of the area from the observation satellite in geostationary orbit above the city. At first, the view was obscured by a plume of thick black smoke. When a breeze cleared the air for a moment, it revealed a fire raging in a tall building. The three Drahtch vehicles were parked in front of the building.

  He sighed. What have they gotten themselves into?

  Then he had another thought: What will the viceroy say about this? If the fire spreads, it could damage a large part of the city.

  He decided to inform his superior about the fire and recommend that they attempt to extinguish it. Then he’d figure out what happened to his men.

  * * * *

  Dr. ZemBleth awaited Commander FronCar with a big smile. He couldn’t wait to give him the good news.

  “I told you I could do it!”

  “Do what?”

  “Why, perfect the hyperallergy virus, of course.”

  “As I recall, you said that you thought you could probably do it.”

  “No matter. I succeeded. I used a virus I found in the subject’s bloodstream as the vector, introduced the hybridized DNA, and ran thousands of simulations and tests until I perfected it. The hardest part was keeping it from killing the subjects too soon. But I finally managed to slow the progression of the allergic reaction from minutes to as much as a day or more, to increase the opportunities for transmission to other subjects. It was tricky, but I succeeded. You now have a weaponized virus at your disposal.

  “Now, I propose a two-pronged attack. One, I infect the twenty-three subjects already captured and then you release them back into the indigene population to spread the virus. Two, I give you the virus in a solution that you can use to dose tracking darts to shoot the indigenes still running loose. They will return to their dens to infect the others there. This approach will give us the widest dispersion of the virus among the population. And I would recommend darting indigenes far and wide to maximize the effect, not just within the city.”

  FronCan smiled. “Excellent. Just how effective is it? What’s the kill rate?”

  ZemBleth hesitated a moment before answering. “It’s not as effective as I would have liked. Obviously, an allergic reaction isn’t the most predictable sort of biological weapon. Ideally, I would have liked to spend a few more months refining the protocols to come up with a higher effectiveness, but I understood that you wanted something “effective enough” soon, rather than something perfect, but much later.”

  FronCar nodded. “Correct.”

  “Good. From our tests, I think we can safely say this virus will infect eighty to ninety percent of indigenes, and kill roughly seventy-to seventy-five percent of those infected. In other words, it should kill approximately fifty-five to sixty-five percent of the total indigene population. I can continue to refine the treatment over the coming months to see if I can create a more effective 2.0 version.”

  FronCar’s smile turned into a grin. “Very good. That will make my job of clearing out the vermin infesting the cities and countryside that much easier.”

  Then another thought occurred to him. “As you know, we’ve recently been coming across indigenes who are much smarter than most. Some have been using projectile weapons against our people. What effect will this hyperallergy virus of yours have on them?”

  Dr. ZemBleth shrugged. “They’re genetically identical. The only difference is brain damage. The virus should have exactly the same effect on them as on the feral ones.”

  “Even better. Thank you, doctor. When can you have the first doses ready for use?”

  “I should have all of the current test subjects dosed and ready for release tomorrow morning. And I can have a hundred or so dart-ready doses ready to go by the end of tomorrow. That should give you a good start. After that, as many as you need, once we automate the production of the treatment.”

  “This is excellent news indeed, Doctor. Once we have the indigenes under control, I’ll make sure the viceroy knows of your invaluable participation in this effort.”

  “That is most gratifying to hear, Commander.”

  “It’s only what you deserve, Doctor. I can’t wait to see the virus in action. This ground-action-only method of invading a world is tedious at best. After months of effort we still barely have a foothold on this planet. Once we get this city fully cleared of indigenes, we can step up our offloading of colonists and finally make some serious headway.”

  FronCar left with a smile on his face.

  As he watched FronCar leave, Dr. ZemBleth pondered a question he’d been debating with himself for the last hour.

  Should I have told him about the unintended side-effect of the virus?

  He shrugged to himself. It probably won’t matter. Most of the indigenes will be dead within a few weeks, anyway.

  * * * *

  Five hours after ChibNorl failed to report in, the fire was finally out.

  BlexJasp took an oversized platoon to search for ChibNorl and his men. They started at the abandoned vehicles and headed toward the building complex. Knowing that the soldiers may have been killed by whatever started the fire, he and his men were on high alert for indigenes—especially those smart enough to use projectile weapons. They also wore gas masks to protect against smoke.

  When they reached the main entrance, BlexJasp looked in surprise at the pile of bodies inside the revolving door.

  This certainly wasn’t the work of feral indies.

  He pointed out that fact to his men, in case it wasn’t obvious to everyone.

  They blasted their way through the bulletproof window to the right of the door. As with ChibNorl earlier, he hadn’t expected it to be so tough to get through.

  Once inside, his men fanned out. The base of the central tower was badly damaged by the fire. That limited the investigation to the lower buildings on either side. His men split into two groups. One, led by FligJeen, went left and the other, led by BlexJasp, went right.

  There was nothing of interest on the main floor. Both groups rejoined and headed down the wide corridor toward the escalators at the back. Without knowing what had happened here before, two men slid on the same oil slicks that had doomed the soldiers earlier and likewise fell down the escalators. The other men managed to catch themselves in time. Seeing the two dead soldiers killed earlier lying on the floor below, they proceeded with caution down the stainless steel dividers, just as ChibNorl had done, and arrived at the bottom safely.

  Of course, they had no idea that the large puddle on the floor was muriatic acid—also known as hydrochloric acid. As they splashed across it, the acid proceeded to eat through the soles of their boots, little by little. With their gas masks on, they couldn’t smell the acid t
ang in the air.

  BlexJasp reached the revolving door. It was locked. He directed his men to exit through the blown out window. As the first few climbed out, most of the men were forced to stand and wait inside for their turn. More than a dozen of them continued to stand in the hydrochloric puddle. The hydrogen chloride fumes given off by the acid irritated the men’s exposed skin.

  Several began scratching. At first, they thought it was simply due to lingering smoke from the fire in the other wing.

  Seconds later, one of them screamed and started hopping around in pain. A few of the soldiers who didn’t understand what was happening laughed at his funny dance. Then the acid burned through the soles of another man’s boots, and then another. Within seconds, fourteen men were screaming and hopping in the puddle, splashing acid onto the legs of the soldiers around them. Two slipped and fell, knocking two others down into the puddle.

  They, in turn, screamed as the acid ate through their uniforms and then began to burn their skin. Those who had just stepped through the window into the acid puddle left on the platform outside, stopped to look back at the commotion. After a few more seconds, the acid ate through their boot soles as well, and four soldiers began to hop about, as if mimicking those within.

  Chaos abounded as more than twenty of the fifty-seven men screamed and looked for a dry area of the floor where they could sit and remove their boots. That resulted in acid burns to the hands of several men as well.

  The medic, who normally would have treated the others’ injuries, was himself one of the victims.

  Within minutes, twenty-two men who had entered the building were rendered out of commission, with various combinations of third-degree chemical burns to the feet and second- and third-degree burns to the hands or legs.

  All of the unaffected men dropped and carefully removed their boots, just in case. They used some of their water rations to rinse the boots.

  BlexJasp shook his head at the carnage. He seethed at what the MemKar-damned indies had done to his men.

  They would pay.

  “Men! Anyone who is still combat-capable, form up here on the platform.”

  He waited for the couple of minutes it took for the rest of the men to put their boots back on and exit through the window, careful to jump over the acid puddle outside and step over or around the five bodies of ChibNorl and his men.

  When Subregulator FligJeen lined up the thirty-three men, Regulator BlexJasp split them into two groups. FligJeen took sixteen men and headed down the tracks to the right. BlexJasp took the other seventeen and went left. Both groups had orders to shoot on sight. That was an order that didn’t really need to be given. The men were more than ready to do so.

  BlexJasp was amazed that they hadn’t known about the existence of such subterranean tunnels. No wonder the indies kept popping up all over the city. They’d been able to travel unseen this way.

  Those days were over.

  * * * *

  After spending hours examining the alien weapons, Daniels was annoyed.

  The weapons were all the same: shaped roughly like that of a rifle, with a narrow barrel at one end and a wider stock at the other. That’s where the similarities ended.

  The weapon was made of smooth “plastic” similar to that of the body armor. It had bulbous projections on both the left and right sides of the barrel near the stock and the tip had a ring around it that could be rotated. The tip itself was made of what appeared to be some sort of crystal. There appeared to be nothing equivalent to a sight or scope.

  “My guess is the ring is a focusing mechanism for the beam that shoots out,” he said to the others, “to go from a narrow to wide. I presume narrow is for penetration, while wide is to take out more than one opponent. But who knows?”

  The team, plus Geoff, sat in one of the conference rooms at The Castle. The reason Daniels didn’t know was that he couldn’t figure out how to turn the damn thing on.

  “There are no buttons, knobs, triggers, or anything else I can see; just smooth plastic. It must be touch sensitive, or something, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out where to press it, or how to aim it. There are no sights on the thing.”

  “Maybe it’s something else,” Chrissy suggested. “Maybe their weapons are remotely connected to their helmets or body armor. If you move the weapons farther than a few feet away, they’re disabled, to prevent the enemy from turning their own weapons on them.”

  Daniels shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe they sight via a heads-up display on their helmet visors. Whatever it is, I can’t figure it out.”

  “At least the aliens won’t have these guns to use against us, later.”

  “True, but they might have millions more.”

  * * * *

  “Okay, here we go. Everyone ready?” Amanda waited for a second and then began to sing. “Mary had a little lamb— Come on, you can do it! Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb…”

  Jay managed to get most of the words almost right. The other seven members of The Pack who were following this game mumbled along and got an occasional word right between them.

  Amanda had gotten them to sit in a circle and hold hands. The rest of The Pack sat farther back, watching and not understanding what was going on. After a few minutes, they stopped paying attention and went back to gnawing on some bones that still held scraps of meat on them.

  “…And its fleece was white as snow.”

  “An is fleeze was wye as no.”

  “Yay! You got it Uncle Jay! Now, the rest of you have to try harder. Okay, let’s do it again.”

  Aunt Suzi and the others continued to practice, mostly off-key, until they got a few more words more-or-less correct.

  Then it was time for the party. Amanda doled out the corn chips, soda, and popcorn. She and the eight Zoms dug in and laughed.

  Through a mouthful of food, Amanda announced, “Tomorrow, we’ll sing ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’ song!”

  * * * *

  It was now midsummer and FronCar hated it. He stood under the canopy of the temporary structure in the park at midday, surveying the area. A late afternoon thunderstorm inundated the city and slowed work outdoors to a crawl. The storm did little to cool the air, as it blew in on a hot breeze coming from the south.

  The temperature was much hotter outside than the Drahtch were used to on their temperate home world. This far inland, there were no moderating ocean breezes.

  For the first time, FronCar saw some of the wisdom in preserving the indigene’s infrastructure. It was hot as a demon’s pit outside, with near hundred-percent humidity on top of that. Without the indigene buildings’ climate control systems, the dwellings would have been unlivable for the hundreds of colonists now occupying the buildings.

  Of course, it had taken the fleet’s top engineers weeks to figure out where the nearest power plant was, how the primitive power grid operated (alternating current, of all things!), how the climate controls worked, and to repair much of the damage to the power lines, transformers, and other components between the nearest power plant and these buildings.

  Finally, the power was back on in this area, and just in time. Fortunately, it was simple to convert the electricity to a form that was usable by Drahtch equipment and it saved them the trouble of shipping huge power generators down to the city for that purpose. The hydroelectric dam upriver provided all the power they needed.

  With power came lights and climate control. That was fine for the colonists, but did nothing to help the soldiers toiling outside in the sweltering heat. FronCan ran a finger around his stiff uniform collar to unstick it from his throat.

  I’ll have to give some thought to creating and issuing hot-weather uniforms to the soldiers before half of them died of heat stroke.

  He turned and trudged through the rain to the battle pod for the trip back up to orbit. He was looking forward to tomorrow. That was the day they would release the indigenes the doctor had infected with the hyperallergy virus upon an unsuspecting population.


  He couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Platoon Regulator BlexJasp and his seventeen men continued trotting through the subway tunnel, hoping to catch the indies who had killed so many of their fellow soldiers. The tunnel was dark and the air was thick and heavy with humidity. The patter of falling rain and the occasional thunderclap echoed through the last station they passed, but at least down here they were dry.

  At one point, they had reached a fork in the tunnel. He’d had to pick one. He chose left. At best, the choice would keep them on the trail of the perpetrators. At worst, they were chasing ghosts up an empty tunnel.

  A slight click, like that of a kicked pebble, emanated from up ahead. BlexJasp signaled the others to pick up their pace.

  “Let’s kill those damned indies and get back to base.”

  There was a flicker of motion just at the limit of their helmet lights. They ran even faster—and then stopped. Coming at them was the damnedest sight BlexJasp had ever seen: Dozens of tiny vermin, running and hopping along the tracks.

  Several of his men raised their weapons, but he held up a hand to stop them. The creatures were too small to be a danger. So why were they charging?

  He got his answer when they raced past BlexJasp and his men. Not charging…fleeing. But from what?

  Seconds later he got the answer to that question as well.

  A scream preceded an indigene, who suddenly appeared in the light. He was followed by another, and then several more, and then a flood of them. The cacophony of screeching and hooting reverberated in the tunnel. It was deafening. The buzzes from the energy weapons added to the din.

  BlexJasp dropped to one knee and opened fire, as did the men in front. That gave the men farther back a clear line of fire. The indies fell, but others kept coming, scrambling over the bodies of the fallen. They had no hope of reaching the soldiers, but they were too stupid to know that. They came anyway, screaming the whole time.