by Bryan James
“What the fuck?” she yelled from the doorway.
I kicked the body into a corner and wiped the blood from my cheek. Not quite believing it myself, I turned back to her.
“Zombie monkey,” I said softly, walking past her and back into the hallway.
“Zombie… monkey? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“See for yourself,” I replied. But the encounter gave me pause. I hadn’t considered the potential for a cross-species infection. We hadn’t seen any other animals infected, and it didn’t seem a coincidence. Humans and animals rarely shared the same diseases. I know I never gave my dog a cold, and I don’t think I’ve ever had a case of hoof and mouth. I did have a pretty severe case of athlete’s foot once, but I don’t think that was in the same league. I paused in the hallway and looked at her questioningly.
“You think…?” I started, but she interrupted me.
Her eyes were bright and curious, but she shook her head, almost disbelievingly. “It’s gotta be the similarity between primate and human DNA. We’re only a couple links off, and we know some of the nastier bugs of recent vintage were introduced to humans by monkeys in Africa and Asia,” she sounded fairly confident, which made me feel better.
She cocked her head, looking slightly worried nonetheless. “But then again, we could be dealing with zombie dachshunds and undead koalas soon. This situation is so fucked; how the hell should we know?” She shrugged and pushed past me into the office.
Now that was an image, I thought as I followed her.
I moved into Kopland’s office and looked around, taking in the room again. It was a large room, with a file cabinet against one wall and a desk against the other. Pictures of smiling children plastered the walls and papers lay in neat stacks on the oak desk. A bank of television monitors sat against the wall closest to us, and a computer hummed from some concealed location beneath the desktop.
“What do you know about this guy?” Kate asked as she examined the pictures on the walls: a collage of sickening domesticity. “Looks like the consummate family man.”
“Also looks like he hasn’t been here for a few days,” I noted, comparing the state of his office with that of the others we had passed, each of which had appeared hastily abandoned.
“He worked with Maria on this Lazarus project. Apparently he was an expert in the field, and was close to perfecting the process. She didn’t talk to me about this stuff that often, but she mentioned him a couple times. He was some sort of bigwig. We’re looking for anything marked Lazarus or regeneration or anything like that.”
She turned to the file cabinet against the far wall as I sat down in his chair, switching on the computer monitor and waited for screen to light up. A picture of a woman in her mid-fifties sat on a shelf at eye level. Behind that silver picture frame was a row of books. Several different versions of the Bible were visible on that shelf, as were some motivational Christian texts. Some of the titles caught my eye as the monitor flickered to life: Staying Right in the Face of the Left, How Would Jesus Vote?, Right to Choose is License to Murder.
Nice.
“This file cabinet is empty,” said Kate, slamming the top drawer shut. “What do you think these monitors go to?” she asked, walking to the bank of dark screens and tapping one with her knuckle.
“Don’t know. You see a power button anywhere?” I asked, only halfway paying attention as the computer was now prompting me for a user name and password.
Shit. Now what? I thumped the desktop in frustration and the picture in the silver frame fell from its shelf, landing with a conspicuous clatter on the keyboard. I opened a drawer in front of me, but before looking inside was diverted by her excited voice.
“Hey, I got something,” Kate exclaimed.
She was squatting in front of the bottom line of monitors, which now held images of concrete pads and metal fencing. They looked like kennels, with cement flooring and small doors through which one could safely slide food. Each of the eight monitors switched to a different cage every two seconds. There must have been hundreds.
“What about the top ones?” I asked, after we had watched the top embankment for a minute or two.
“Hold on… ” she replied, as she craned her neck over and behind the row of screens. Then she reached in suddenly and I heard the flip of a switch. The remaining monitors came to life. Four showed static, two showed nothing. One of the remaining two bore the motionless image of a lanky, gray haired man in a white lab coat standing in front of a blue screen.
As curious as that image was, it was the last monitor to which our attention was immediately drawn. The cable was on, apparently brought in by a satellite feed. The first channel was inoperative, as were the next four. But as she scrolled through the networks, we eventually landed on the BBC. A small, distinguished young woman sat at a gray desk, pictures of what looked like mob violence flashing behind her on a small screen. She spoke to the camera slowly and distinctly, in true English fashion.
“…as reports continue on the ongoing crisis in the United States, we have confirmed reports of massive explosions in New York City, Philadelphia and Washington D.C. The British government has not disclosed their source, and the American government is still in utter disarray.”
She looked down briefly to the stack of paper in front of her, and back to the camera. “Again, to repeat our story from the top of the hour, and the top of every hour for the last four days: it appears that a massive plague or infection, turning citizens to violent, deranged psychotics, has overcome the vast majority of the United States.”
On that report, we looked at each other without speaking. Thirty-six hours ago, it had only been half of the country. Now it was the whole enchilada.
“Apparently originating on the East Coast, this infection, which appears to be spread through bodily fluid contact with the diseased, has now infested massive areas of the now quarantined nation. Populated areas were hardest hit, with the infection spreading rapidly between victims. Reports we now have from military, commercial and civilian air and grounds sources within both infected areas and non-infected areas indicate that vast swathes of the country have become no-mans’ lands, inhabited and controlled by the living dead.”
The amazing thing about this report was that, unlike the man we had seen in Target mere days ago, this reporter didn’t pause when she was made to speak the name of the perpetrators.
“Safe harbors within the U.S. are few and far between, but limited contact from isolated strongholds within the besieged nation indicate that the State of Florida south of American Interstate number 10 is a confirmed safety zone. However, individuals approaching from the North or the West are warned to display identification of some manner indicating sentient status. Large signs, the firing of weapons into the air, or the honking of car horns are suggested.”
I’m thinking a huge sign that says “Get out of my way. I’m going to Disney world”.
“All indications are that the American President is safe in Florida… ”
Oh, now there’s some happy news. I can die content now.
“Likewise, isolated cities and towns throughout the American West and Midwest are reported to still be infection free, but it should be warned that reports are sporadic, and the veracity of these reports cannot be assured. Our experts have warned, however…”
Where the fuck did they get zombie experts?
“… that as the infection progresses Westward, the vast numbers of creatures will have multiplied exorbitantly and these small outposts may be ill-equipped to survive such large numbers.”
She looked directly at the camera, discarding the notes in front of her. “Survivors are urged not to take risks or expose themselves to the creatures… they are not your friends or family anymore…”
Just as I was thinking that I had heard that before, the cable feed cut to static, plunging the office into a white-noise oblivion. Electronic snow covered the face of the monitor and despite her best efforts at wiggling cables and plugs in
the rear of the embankment, Kate couldn’t get it back up.
“What about this guy? He looks like he’s got something to say,” she said, nodding at the immobile man staring awkwardly at us from behind the last monitor.
“That thing got a play button?” I asked, looking around. She shook her head. I moved behind the desk and looked into the drawer I had opened before. A remote lay at the bottom, surrounded by packages of Twinkies and unused blue pens. I remembered the jokes Maria would make about Twinkies surviving the coming Apocalypse and chuckled briefly as I aimed the small black device at the television and pressed play.
“…briefing is an explanation of the Lazarus program and is designed for DOD use only.” You gotta be kidding me. We finally got lucky.
I spared a glance for Kate, who was staring at the screen. She spared me a glance of triumph and excitement, which I readily returned. The speaking continued.
“All other uses are strictly prohibited by USC 17-36 and the Homeland Security Act of 2001.” The man, clearly a scientist, seemed uncomfortable with the legalese, and looked slightly more at home after delivering the message. He was tall and slightly balding, with piercing black eyes and a deep voice. A small paunch struggled to break free of his pleated pants.
“My name is Doctor Derrick Kopland, and I’m a biochemist with the Starling Mountain Project in New York. As you know, a vast portion of our funding comes from DOD R&D sources, and this is a progress report on the project referred to here as Lazarus.”
We looked at each other after he mentioned the DOD funding-was Lazarus supposed to be a military asset? A weapon of some sort? I didn’t see how that helped us. Gee, the enemy wasn’t hard enough to kill so we’re going to zombify them and make them hunger for our man-flesh?
That’s really bright.
Note to self: don’t pay any more taxes until these idiots get their shit straight.
He went on. “As you can see in your written reports, Lazarus is a unique discovery, with historical and, some might say, religious implications. Although not scientifically relevant in the strictest sense, a short historical summary would be helpful to understanding the true genesis of our research.
“In 1989, archaeologists from the University of Chicago unearthed a hitherto unknown chamber that adjoined the tomb believed to have housed an individual named in the bible. Since the discovery of this tomb, hundreds of tourists had visited the chamber, not knowing that below their feet lied an archaeological and biological find that would rival that of King Tut’s Tomb and penicillin, all rolled into one. A team from the University was doing standard excavation in the rear of the chamber when sonic resonance scans indicated a small, uncharted depression that seemed to be located behind a wall of solid rock. Upon boring into the rock, it was discovered that there was indeed an extensive series of caves that had seemingly been blocked off from the original tomb by walls of fallen rock. Over the years the rocks had shifted and gravel had filled in the crevices so that it looked like a natural wall.”
He hurried himself along, realizing that he had digressed in his excitement to relate the story.
“Anyway, the theory is that the locals for some reason walled up the rear of the tomb to seal off the caves from the surface. When the team got into the caves, they realized why. After being under the surface for only hours, they began to feel strange. Eventually, within four hours, all five members had succumbed to vomiting, nausea, and extreme disorientation. Only when they were removed from the room did those effects dim and eventually abate completely.”
He took a breath, slowing his speech. “As you can likely guess, the tomb was that of Lazarus: a man that Jesus raised from the dead in the book of John.”
I noticed in passing that he didn’t say “supposedly raised from the dead.” Probably not a big surprise, given his office materials and the wandering hordes outside.
“After that, a team from the CDC was called in. Unique mineral deposits were found lining the caves, in large quantities. In small doses, they were virtually harmless, causing only a small headache or minor dizziness. In protracted exposure, cases were much more severe. As you know, we were able to secure almost 2 metric tons of the deposits, which were subversively extracted from the area under cover of darkness, and exported via military channels back to the U.S.”
He smiled, and the blue screen lit up behind him, transforming from a blank screen to a video of several scientists bent over small Petri dishes, hypodermic needles in hand, wearing full HAZMAT regalia.
“Since then, for almost fifteen years, Starling Mountain Research Facility has been the home of the Lazarus Project. At first, we didn’t appreciate the unique qualities of the compound. While we realized that it caused various physical ailments, we were intrigued by writings found on the walls of the tomb indicating that in other iterations, the compound might actually possess restorative properties. Of course, we had no idea what that implied. We assumed initially we were talking about a primitive Ibuprofen or similar painkiller. Maybe even an amphetamine.”
He smiled again and shook his head, stepping aside as the picture behind him changed. The footage was grainier, the camera shaking.
“It wasn’t until about ten years ago that the full import of the substance was realized.” The camera was clearly being held by an amateur, and it followed the path of a stretcher as it wound its way down halls very similar to those through which we had come today. Exactly like, really.
“What you’re seeing is footage of the medical evacuation of a scientist who suffered a massive cardiac event while working with the substance in lab 4 a decade ago. In his discomfort and pain, he removed his protective garb in direct exposure to very concentrated amounts of the compound. Since he was in obvious distress unrelated to the effects of the compound, no one thought much of it when he was removed from the room.”
The camera had stopped and the image of a body on a wheeled stretcher was visible in a stark, dismal hallway. The paramedics had moved back from the gurney, and were looking at one another uncertainly.
“Quite by accident, we had been filming the degeneration of certain primate functions in laboratory animals when he became ill, and were able to catch the subsequent events on camera.” His tone was thinly veiled excitement, a tone of wonder and marvel infused with anxiety.
On the screen, a white sheet stretched over the form of a body moved, as if the body below was no longer inert.
“What we discovered by pure accident,” he continued, “was quite phenomenal.”
The sheet rose up as if levitated, falling down again to reveal the now-familiar gaping maw and gray-hued skin on the face of an older man in a disheveled white coat. His teeth were bared and his hands were suddenly active, searching for the cameraman. The camera dropped to the floor; feet moved in front of the now cracked lense, and blood splattered on to the floor. The video feed terminated in a flash of motion. The screen froze on the last image: blood covering the dull linoleum, mere centimeters from the camera lens.
The video feed shifted back to Kopland, whose grinning face was morbidly out of place considering the scene that had unfolded on the blue screen mere seconds ago.
“We found that, for lack of a better description, we could now reanimate the dead.”
Chapter 27
The screen behind Kopland now transitioned to a laboratory with bustling scientists clustered around a table. The object on the table was obscured by the bodies in white lab coats, but he continued to speak as the camera neared the table, slowly making its way forward.
“After the incident with Dr. Matthews, research progressed on the mineral, which we found had, to say the least, unique restorative capabilities. However, we also found that it was inherently unstable. Tests on subjects in the lab indicated that reanimation was possible, but only on a certain level. In other words, we weren’t raising the dead per se; we were simply reanimating the corpse and reenergizing certain bodily functions and impulses. As we saw with Dr. Matthews, brain function past certain
primal stages was impossible to restore due to the instability of the element. And as we saw with the cameraman that Dr. Matthews attacked, innate impulses to feed were inexplicably drawn to human subjects, possibly due to the high iron content of the blood or some sort of genetic response to other human pheromones; potentially even a primitive draw to the scent of human hormones or other bodily odors.”
The crowd had been parted, and the camera was focused on a young, middle eastern-looking man strapped to a long, steel table. His face registered fear and pure anxiety; he quivered against the metal table and his hands and feet moved slowly against their restraints. Eyes like agates shifted constantly around the room; his voice was shrill and pleading. He was naked but for a pair of under shorts and the straps adorning his extremities. From the side of the table, a nurse approached him and coldly injected his arm with a milky red substance. As the chemical disappeared into his arm, the scientists around the table backed off. His face grew slack and his arms dropped limply to the table.
“The restorative properties of the chemical lead naturally to a drive to determine whether it could be utilized not only to safely reanimate dead tissue, as it had shown it was capable of doing, but also to make existing, living tissue regenerative or even impervious to flesh wounds or bodily injury.”
“As you know, we were provided ample test subjects from our various Defense Department sources. All of them provided vital information for the project. The young man you see behind me was our first direct injection specimen.”
The body hadn’t moved.
“In it’s solid state, the element’s restorative properties seem only to be applicable if death occurs in direct proximity. However, in the weaponized version, LZR-1143, the chemical was and remains highly transmittable through liquid contact. Fluid transfer and bites tend to be the most dangerous methods of contagion. Interestingly enough, there seem to be no similar effects from direct exposure to the chemical in its mineral form. Of course, other adverse reactions manifest, such as the nausea and headaches. But the chemical in its natural state has no transformative capacities unless the body in proximity is deceased.”
