Machines of the Dead

by David Bernstein

  Taking the “mystery” tunnel, the group went on. A short time later, much shorter than the trek they took in the other tunnel, the group came upon another security door.

  “No way we’re out of the city,” Zaun said.

  “No, definitely not,” Jack agreed. He felt a portion of the hope he had inside leak out like the air in a punctured tire. It appeared they would have to fight their way out of the city, and with limited ammo and supplies. Thinking of all they had gone through, he grew even more determined, the deflating tire filling with air. He wouldn’t lose hope now. Couldn’t let himself become overwhelmed with doubt. They’d come too far to give up. If they had to, they would fight with every cell in their bodies.

  With renewed vigor, Jack used the keycard and had the door opened in seconds. They entered an empty room with an elevator and a set of stairs leading up. An overhead light shined dimly. They took the metal-mesh stairs up five flights before coming to a small landing and another security door. With no idea what to expect, every closed door a potential nightmare, Jack did his thing and had the door unlocked in no time.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s do this,” Maria said.

  Jack opened the door and saw the back end of a Chevy Tahoe. Stepping inside, he saw that he was in some kind of garage. To his left, lined up like racehorses, were three more identical black SUV’s. The garage had no windows save for three skylights above; each one permitting bright sunlight to pour in.

  Jack walked over to a door. He figured it led to the outside. He tried the knob. It turned. Opening it a crack, he peered out, the cold wind causing his eyes to water. Through teary vision, he saw a paved lot. About thirty feet across from him was a small building with six bodies strewn in front and all wearing the familiar black fatigues. Over the door was the word “maintenance.” Maintenance my ass, Jack thought. Behind the building were two chain-link fences topped with spiraling razor wire. A number of undead were pawing at the outer fence. There was a sign on the inner fence, the writing too small to read, but the large yellow lightning bolt was all he needed to see, letting him know the fence was electrified. Closing the door, he told the others what he saw.

  “So now what?” Zaun asked.

  “We check out the area,” Jack said. “Take it from there.”

  Opening the door again, a little farther this time, he checked to make sure the area was clear, then stepped out, the others right behind him.

  They were in another industrial part of one of the outer boroughs, Queens or Brooklyn most likely. Hundreds of undead surrounded the place, the outer fence keeping them at bay. About seventy-five feet to the left was a long narrow building that ran along the shoreline of the Hudson River. Manhattan stood on the other side of the water, still standing proud despite the undead filling its streets. With fresh meat in their sights, the undead became more animated, their bloodied, torn bodies almost seeming to dance in place.

  “I don’t think we should be out in the open like this,” Maria said.

  The group headed to the maintenance building. The dead guards’ faces were gaunt, cheekbones protruding like pieces of granite. Eyes seemed to float deep in their sockets as if held by wet paper towel, and the flesh was sickly, discolored, as if bleached. Each body was riddled with bullet holes, including the heads.

  “What the hell happened here?” Zaun asked.

  “Looks like they were infected,” Jack said. “Made it this far before they were killed.”

  “I don’t see Reynolds among them,” Maria offered.

  “I’m guessing the bots they were infected with were immune to the Taser’s voltage.” Jack said, “Or maybe they didn’t have Tasers with them.”

  “Yeah,” Zaun said. “I don’t see any.”

  “There’s no time to figure that out,” Maria said. “We need to make a decision and do something.” She pointed toward the undead. “I don’t think the fences will hold forever and we have no idea if the electricity will stop them.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said, noticing how the fence was severely bowing inward in places.

  He and the others entered the maintenance building, the front door unlocked.

  Inside were computers and desks, the place resembling a miniature version of the warehouse back in Brooklyn. Papers were strewn about, desk drawers lay open and on the floor.

  Jack wanted to believe in a time of crisis that law and order would prevail. Sure the undead were walking around. They were in the majority now, at least in the city, but what about the other parts of the country? Was there still a military? A police force? Or had everyone gone solo? People had families, loved ones that needed protecting. The epidemic was proving to be apocalyptic. If that was the case, then no one and nowhere was safe. It was individuals looking out for themselves, their families. It was human nature. Maybe Reynolds’ men had a fallback position, a place out of the city where they could work.

  “There’s nothing here,” Maria said. “We need to move. If those fences give out we’ll be trapped in here.”

  They headed over to the building by the water.

  The door wasn’t secured. The two locks that had been on it were on the ground, opened. Jack put his ear to the door. He came away shrugging. Looking at the others, he whispered, “on the count of three we go in.” Facing the door, Jack pulled out his .9mm and on the count of three, the group charged inside.

  The place was a boathouse, holding three walk-around type speedboats. A somewhat narrow wooden floor, boardwalk-like ran from one end of the structure to the other. Short docks extended outward to each boat. The air was warm and Jack noticed a number of space heaters around the place. At the end of the boardwalk, sitting against the wall and looking a step away from death, was Reynolds. He was dressed in black fatigues. A handgun rested near his legs.

  “Keep an eye out and cover me,” Jack said before proceeding forward.

  Reynolds locked stares with Jack. The man began laughing, then coughing harshly, his face contorting in pain. “I knew there was something special about you, Jack. You’re a resilient bastard. You and your friends.”

  Keeping his gun aimed at the man, Jack kicked Reynolds’ gun into the water. He thought about sending the evil bastard in after it; the two could be river mates in Hell, for surely that was where a man like him was heading, if such a place existed.

  “Bit by your own dog, eh, Reynolds?” Jack asked.

  The man shook his head, grinning wickedly. Jack could see the man’s skin was lined with sweat. Sure the place was warmer than outside, but it was still on the cool side. Reynolds was starting to resemble the dead men outside, eyes sunken in, the skull’s sockets revealed in detail. Jack took a step back as the man’s horrendous body odor crept into his nose, a mixture of human waste and rot.

  “You never planned on developing the bots to help soldiers, did you? It was a weapon all along, wasn’t it?”

  “Not true, Jack. I was developing the program to heal soldiers, but when the military saw what I was doing, they wanted a weapon first. They had a controllable bug. One they could use on the enemy. Send it into an area, wipe out the population, then have the bug eradicated with a few EMP bombs. The infected would be seen as highly contagious, an epidemic. The place would be cordoned off. They’d call in professionals—our people—to clean up the mess. Once the weapon was perfected, I was free to use it for healing purposes.” He started laughing, the laughs turning into harsh coughs.

  “You’re not only a monster,” Jack spat, “you’re a failure.”

  “I created what they wanted. I didn’t fail, just ran out of time.” He coughed up a stream of blood.

  “What do you say, Jack? Put an old friend out of his misery? Put down the rabid dog?”

  “How do we stop the bots?”

  “Short of an EMP blast, lots of electricity. We lost power in the lab. Had to leave. Make it to safety before . . .” he coughed up more blood “before the bots killed us. Tasers are useless unless used right away and I’d u
se at least two charges on a person. Maybe three. That’s all I have for you, Jack. Now do me a favor and kill me quick.”

  Jack wanted to leave the man alive and let his own creation have him, but what difference did it make whether the man died in an hour or right away? Once he was dead, he’d be dead.

  “I should let you suffer.” Jack stared at the man, then raised his gun and put a bullet into Reynolds’ head.

  “Jack,” Zaun yelled from across the room. “They’re through the first fence. And there’s no electricity running through the second.”

  “You did the right thing, Jack,” Maria said. “Now we have to move.”

  Holstering his weapon, Jack and Zaun climbed aboard one of the boats.

  “I can’t go with you guys,” Maria said. “I have to get to my daughter.”

  “You can’t go alone,” Zaun said.

  Jack wondered how this would play out. He also had family he needed to reach. He understood Maria’s situation. No way would she wait a second more than she had to. The same went for him. He had to find his sister.

  “Go with her,” Jack told Zaun. “Then come find me. You know where my sister’s house is.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that, Zaun. I won’t.” Maria grabbed her weapon and her pack and climbed out of the boat.

  “Wait, I’m coming with you,” Zaun said.

  She turned around and put a hand to Zaun’s chest. “Jack will need you more than I will. I served. I can handle myself. You two need each other. You made it this far together. Don’t break up a good team.”

  “We should stick together,” Zaun said, looking back at Jack, then to Maria.

  “We both have families out there we need to get to,” Jack said.

  “We don’t know what the hell is out there,” Zaun argued. “The whole world might be like this. We need to stick together.”

  Jack didn’t like splitting up. Sticking together was the smart thing to do, but then where did they head first? His sister was an adult. At one time, she had been a strong person. Her husband couldn’t be relied on for shit. If anything, Jack was afraid the guy would put her life in further jeopardy. Make her go for food and whatnot. Thinking about it made his angst to leave even greater.

  “We can’t stay here,” he said. “We all have families to get to.”

  “Zaun,” Maria said. “Go with Jack. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you two were brothers. I’ll be fine.”

  Zaun spun around to look at Jack, and Maria hit him from behind, knocking him out cold.

  Jack stared at her in surprise.

  “Had to make sure he wouldn’t try anything stupid. Take him with you, and tell him I’m sorry.”

  Jack smiled. “I will. Good luck, Maria.”

  “You too, Jack.

  With that, Maria hurried over to another boat. Jack and started the engine. He checked the fuel gauge, saw that it was full, then untied the craft and headed out.

  Idling in the river, he waited for Maria, seeing her emerge a minute later. She waved at him, then headed downstream, Jack watching her go.

  The dead had completely circled the area; the second fence apparently not electrified, was bending inward in places and wouldn’t hold for long. Not wanting to waste another second, he hit the throttle and headed up stream towards Cornwall in hopes of finding his sister alive.

  The End

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  Read on for a free sample of Judgment Day The first book in the action packed new zombie series from JE Gurley author of Ice Station Zombies

  Judgment Day

  JE Gurley

  1

  For an hour, the last patient of the day had been droning on and on about his abusive father. Dr. Jebediah Stone had heard the depressing tale so many times over the past six months; he could repeat it almost verbatim. Worse yet, the story never varied; a well-rehearsed rationale for the speaker’s abusive behavior. Dr. Stone idly stared out the window at a spotted Gila Woodpecker busily excavating a new hole in the twenty-foot tall saguaro cactus outside his office. The sunshine from a cloudless blue sky and the yellow lantanas blooming like a patch of spring in late November made him wish he could be out there in the fresh air instead of sitting bored in his office.

  Thanksgiving was just a few days away and his thoughts turned to the aroma of pumpkin pie, roast turkey and cranberries. Thanksgiving had always been a season of food, friends, family and fellowship for the Stone family. However, this year, events had transpired to place his favorite holiday on the back burner.

  “What do you think, Dr. Stone?”

  Jeb refocused his attention on his patient, Nelson Sedge. The question was his cue to respond. This time, he decided to vary the dialogue. “I think you need to move on.”

  Sedge’s head jerked in his direction at the unexpected answer. “Move on? What do you mean? He abused me.”

  “Yes, yes, he beat you. I know. You said yourself you were a wild kid, always in trouble. Do you think your father beat you because he hated you or because he wanted to straighten you out?”

  Sedge hesitated, confused by the new focus of the conversation. He had never been grilled before while on the couch and the spotlight made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

  Jeb sighed. “Nelson, you’ve told me a dozen times that you’ve forgiven your father; that you want to move on with your life. Why rehash old wounds?”

  Sedge squirmed uncomfortably on the leather couch, his ample backside squeaking on the leather upholstery. “I’m impotent and it’s his fault,” he snapped.

  “You’re impotent because you’re 150 pounds overweight, have high blood pressure and take seven different pills a day for your supposed mood swings. It’s enough to curtail any man’s sex drive. You don’t need a psychologist. What you need is a gym and a good personal trainer.”

  Sedge sneezed without covering his mouth. Jeb winced. Great, all he needed was the flu, especially since his child already had it, and his wife might be coming down with it. Everyone in the whole country seemed to have it, despite the mandatory flu shots.

  “You’re supposed to help me,” Sedge said in an accusatory tone.

  “You have to want to help yourself. Blaming your father is the easy way out. He might have encouraged your low self-esteem and your quick anger, but he’s dead and you are the only one who can change your life. These past six months I’ve listened to you, and even though I have made my observations time after time, you choose to ignore them because they’re inconvenient. I can’t help that. It’s time to take some responsibility for letting your past control your present.”

  Sedge remained silent for a moment before replying harshly, “Maybe, I need a new doctor.”

  Jeb sighed again, this time in irritation. He was tired and his head throbbed. Maybe, he was coming down with the flu despite the vaccine, after all. “You might be right. You won’t listen to me and I can’t in good conscience take your money and offer nothing in return.”

  “I’ve got plenty of money,” Sedge snapped. “I need help.”

  Laying his notepad and pencil aside, Jeb looked at his watch. Since a video recorder captured each session, he seldom took notes, but patients felt reassured by the age-old façade.

  “Your time is up, Nelson. I suggest you seek professional help elsewhere. I’ve done all I can for you.”

  With some difficulty, Sedge levered himself from the couch, glared at Jeb and said quite huffily, “That is exactly what I’ll do, Doctor. I find your manner quite unprofessional, and I don’t think you care anymore.”

  Jeb rose. “You know, you’re right, Nelson. I don’t care. Good day.”

  Quickly, he ushered Sedge out the door and shut it behind him. Then, he returned to his desk and leaned against it for a moment, as a dizzy spell swept over him. I should have taken better care of myself. Nursing Karen and Josh has worn me out. He pressed the concealed button shutting off the video recorder, before buzzing Gloria, his receptionist.

  “Go on home, Glor
ia. I’m going to change and drop by the florist. It’s Karen’s birthday. God knows a little color might cheer her up a bit.”

  “Send her my love, Dr. S,” she answered.

  Jeb smiled at Gloria’s irreverence for the boss/employee relationship. He liked Gloria, because she brooked no nonsense from him or the patients, and she never failed to offer her opinion about his patients, his choice in ties or his refusal to eat fast food.

  “I’ll do that, Gloria. Good night.” Just as he turned off the intercom, he heard Gloria’s sneeze come through the closed door and shook his head. Her too?

  Changing out of his suit coat and tie was almost more than he could handle. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, finally yanking it off over his head. Thank God, it’s Friday. I need a break. Finally, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a faded t-shirt, he felt less the doctor and more the human being. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the belly of the brass Buddha sitting on his desk for luck, a reminder of his and Karen’s vacation to China seven years earlier. His constant daily rubbing had removed the dull patina that covered the rest of the smiling statue, making the prominent belly shine. Gloria, a devout Christian, always chided him for what she called a ‘heathen idol’, but to him it was a simple reminder of better times.

  As Jeb drove west along Ina Road from his Catalina Foothills office, he was surprised at how light the traffic was. The Catalina Mountains formed a spectacular barricade to Tucson’s northern growth, rising majestically to a height of almost 10,000 feet. In stark contrast to the warm late fall day below, snow blanketed the piney slopes of Mt. Lemmon. The major east-west conduit on the city’s north side was usually crowded. People were beginning to panic and stay home. Not that he could blame them. Nearly six thousand people in the U.S. had died of the Avian Flu in the past month, and over fifty thousand in Asia where it had originated. It wasn’t just the old and young succumbing to the ravages of the fever anymore. Men and women, hale and hardy, were beginning to drop like flies.