Terrified, yet elated, she held on for dear life, but quickly realized that the faster her horse went, the less pounding her body took as his entire motion changed. After a swift and incredibly adrenaline-charged sprint across a field and up a hillside, Lennox again came to a halt, but this time she was almost sorry to stop. Almost.
“I thought you would appreciate if we combined a little business with pleasure,” the captain said with an enigmatic look, a moment before he pointed down to a large open area adjacent to a lake.
Prodding her horse forward a few more feet, Becks instinctively reached for her pistol—which she was not wearing—when she looked below and saw zombies; dozens and dozens of them staggering in all directions. She was about kick her heels into the stallion to send him back into a gallop, when Lennox grabbed the reins of her horse.
“Hang on, those scummers are contained in an electrified fence. Look, over there!”
He pointed to a small child who shuffled over to the 8-foot-high metal fence, and the instant her hand made contact there was a sharp buzzing sound. Her little body shook for a few seconds, then went totally limp and she hit the ground.
“Is she dead? I mean, for good?” Becks asked, her mind reeling with the sight of the large herd. She hadn’t been this close to that many zombies since going to West Point in the spring.
“No, the ZIP network is just temporarily disrupted. She’ll be up and around in about 10 minutes. But we very well could have upped the voltage and put her down for good, but we would lose too many test subjects that way. These scummers are so stupid, they never learn.”
As if to emphasize his point, four or five other zombies got up off the ground and stumbled right back into the electrified fence, dropping again like sacks of potatoes. Apparently this went on all day and night.
Becks was all too familiar with the ZIPs that brought on the apocalypse, and how electric shocks affected them. At ParGenTech, where she conducted her initial research on the parasites, she used a stun rod to subdue her test subjects, which she rather enjoyed. If outposts of survivors were able to generate enough electricity, these fences would work wonders for their security—especially dialed up to lethal levels.
“So tell me, what exactly do you test on these…scummers?” Becks asked, deciding to employ the local lingo.
“Would you like to find out for yourself, Dr. Kilzombie?” Lennox asked with a self-satisfied smirk. Apparently, someone at West Point had told him about the nickname Cam’s men had given her in the early days of the infection outbreak, when she had to shoot three zombies in a restaurant in Cornwall.
“As my reputation precedes me, need you ask?”
Forgetting that she didn’t know what she was doing, Becks prompted her horse to take off at a gallop down the hill. She almost fell off, twice, but somehow managed to stay in the saddle. Fortunately, the horse had apparently been to this facility many times before, and he knew to take her right to the entrance of a large, concrete building, where he stopped without needing to receive a command from his hapless passenger.
The ground felt so good beneath her feet as Becks stepped down onto terra firma. Slowly bending and twisting ever so slightly, she hoped to surreptitiously readjust her misaligned and battered anatomy.
“Riding a horse really makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” Lennox asked, giving Becks a slap on the back.
Makes me wish I was dead, she thought, but nonetheless managed a smile and a nod.
Becks followed Lennox past a pair of saluting guards at the door, and they entered the nondescript building that was made of very thick, reinforced concrete walls. She now knew that outward appearances meant nothing at the Picatinny Arsenal, and she fully expected another high tech wonderland of labs and test equipment inside. Instead, bare concrete walls were faintly illuminated by the occasional light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Except for a couple of tables and chairs, the long room had no other furniture. What it did have, however, were rows of heavy steel cabinets with sophisticated security locks.
Captain Lennox sauntered over to the second row to a cabinet labeled SBX-170A. Placing his palm on a screen set flush into the door of the cabinet, there was a beep and a clank, and the massive door swung open in a wide arc. When it opened far enough for Becks to see inside, she thought her eyes would pop out of her head. She had no idea what it was, but it was the most beautiful and elegant weapon she had ever seen. It was as long as a rifle, but had no moving parts or an open barrel. There was a laser scope mounted on top, but other than that it looked more like a white ceramic lighting fixture than a weapon.
“Is this a magic wand or a gun?” Becks asked, raising her hands to indicate she was clueless.
“A little bit of both,” Lennox replied, cradling the object in his arms and running his fingertips down it in what could only be characterized as a caress. “The SBX-170A is the culmination of high intensity infrasound technology, utilizing rapid pulse acoustic emitters to either propagate widespread non-lethal bursts, or initiate focused waves that inflict tissue damage—with extreme prejudice.”
“Oh, cool! The Sonic Disrupter!” Becks gushed like a kid on Christmas morning.
Lennox tried to look dismayed at her science fiction reference, but he couldn’t help but appreciate her enthusiasm. And it really was like something out of movie.
“If you must give it a name, we call it the Whale Bone,” he said, then realized that needed some further explanation. “Whales use infrasound to communicate over long distances. They also use intense bursts of sound to stun their prey. And, the white composite material kind of looks like bone, hence the nickname.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s all fascinating,” Becks said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now, are we going to stand around chattering all day or are we going to take this baby out for a test drive?”
Becks could barely contain herself as they went outside to the holding pen, but her exuberance was knocked down a few pegs as they approached the fence and the stinking, rotting occupants all surged toward them. She stopped in her tracks and reached for her gun again, and for a moment felt panic that she was unarmed—until a few of the closest zombies hit the electrified fence and dropped to the ground. Even though in her head she knew she was safe, in her heart and stomach she couldn’t suppress that old fear. Fence or not, this many zombies eyeing her as dinner just a few yards away was simply too close for comfort.
“Steady, Doctor,” Lennox said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “They still creep the hell out of me, too. I never get used to these filthy scummers. Let’s give ourselves a little breathing room, shall we?”
Sliding back a small panel in the center of the weapon, Lennox swiftly ran his fingers across a touchscreen, pointed the “Whale Bone” at the closest zombies, and within a second or two at least a dozen of them hit the dirt twitching. Becks wondered how far her jaw had dropped.
“But, but, I didn’t hear anything!” she exclaimed in amazement.
“The early prototypes made a buzzing noise just to let the user know it was working,” he explained as he hit the touchscreen a few more times, “but we decided it was best to keep it silent so as not to attract any attention. Now, watch this and start counting!”
Raising the Whale Bone to his shoulder, a red laser spot appeared on the forehead of a short, adult male with a round head and big eyes. Becks had just said “three” when those eyes turned bright red as capillaries began to rupture. At the count of five, blood trickled from his ears and nose. At seven there was a gush of blood and jellied tissue from his eye sockets, nose, mouth, and ears, and the zombie was dead as a doornail before he keeled over.
Of course, Becks immediately had to try the weapon herself, but after she sonically disrupted the head of the fifth zombie, Lennox clamped his hand over the control panel and protested that she needed to leave them at least a few test subjects.
They went back into the concrete building and Lennox showed her the contents of some of the other cabinets. Tru
thfully, Becks didn’t understand a lot of what the Lennox was telling her about the various high tech weapons and ammo, but she was so fascinated that she listened for almost an hour. Few people ever truly impressed her, but Lennox was definitely one of them. And she had been mistaken about his Ivy League education—he was the son of a Boston iron worker, and had graduated from West Point with a degree in systems engineering, specializing in weaponry.
“So how did someone with your background get to lead this project? Aren’t there any medical staff that could have done it?” she asked, wondering why such a brilliant engineer was “slumming” on zombie drug manufacturing and ZIP farming.
“Ah, good question,” he replied with another of those devilish smiles she had glimpsed on occasion at meetings. “While I applaud your innovative delivery system for the infected meat, I felt that glass jar grenades could use a slight upgrade. I have plans for some rather unique biological agent delivery systems. Those scummers won’t know what hit them.”
Try as she would, Lennox wouldn’t divulge any of his plans for getting the co-infecting ZIPs into the zombies’ bodies, but he said that if she attended a little dinner party at his quarters that evening, he might share an idea or two.
“That’s blackmail,” she stated without malice.
“But blackmail for your own good. You’ll be leaving in a couple of days and you should relax at least one night. And there are some people I want you to meet.”
Becks really wanted to get back to work, but one night off might be fun. She agreed on the condition that Sgt. Colaneri and Ronan join them. After an even more painful ride back, she actually slept several hours before the party. The day off definitely did her good, and when she arrived at the captain’s quarters, she was looking forward to the evening.
Becks was greeted by Mrs. Lennox, who looked just as blue-blooded as her husband. She had been a hotshot corporate attorney BZA, but as there wasn’t much call for lawyers these days (at least there was something good to be said about the zombie apocalypse!), she had been running one of the zeeoh daycare centers and schools. Their own two children—a little boy and girl who could have been blueblood poster children—made a brief and polite appearance in their cute little footed PJs, then were ushered off to bed.
Quite an eclectic group of military and civilian personnel were in attendance, and the topic of conversation was clearly skewed to a subject near and dear to Becks’ heart—every way possible to kill a zombie—from primitive clubs made from sticks with rocks duct taped to them, to multimillion dollar missile systems. After dinner and several rounds of drinks, the “war stories” began circulating about everyone’s most harrowing and outrageous zombie encounters. Becks noticed that the sergeant sat in awkward silence during the telling of these stories—as he had none to share. Ronan also did not share any stories, but it couldn’t have been because he didn’t have a long list of zombie kills and narrow escapes. Becks assumed it was a combination of modesty, and a reluctance to relive some painful memories.
It was late when Becks got back to her quarters. Even though she hadn’t worked at all that day, she was exhausted. She wasn’t used to socializing—or horseback riding—and it all seemed to take more out of her than an 18-hour shift in the lab. But she was very glad she had been blackmailed into going to the party—although she had completely forgotten to ask Lennox about his plans for the ZIPs delivery systems. It had been good food, good company, and the last time she would be able to kick back and have fun for a long time. Perhaps it was even the very last time.
Chapter 2
Due to the highly-skilled and competent doctors and scientists on staff, it only took Becks another two days to get everyone up to speed on how to grow healthy, competitive ZIPs. She could have stuck around a few more days to make sure the first several batches were successful, but they did have phone and video chat capabilities with West Point, and there was no reason she couldn’t come back if any of the procedures needed tweaking.
Also, the base meteorologists said there was a 30% chance of a coastal storm developing that night, so they suggested that the supply run to West Point leave by mid-morning to avoid any bad weather. Becks got word to Sgt. Colaneri, and even though it was his day off, he volunteered for the assignment.
At 8am, as Becks was saying her goodbyes to Captain Lennox and the project staff, the first raindrops already started a staccato beat on the roof, and a steady breeze swirled the fallen leaves into mini twisters. By 9am, as she finished packing equipment, the sky had turned an ominous greenish-black and a steady rain was coming down at a sharp angle in the stiff wind. At 10am, as she climbed into the front seat of the Humvee driven by Sgt. Colaneri, she questioned whether or not they should head out in this intensifying nor’easter—which obviously was developing, and a lot sooner than predicted.
“Orders say we go,” the sergeant replied. “And the lead Humvee is carrying some new exotics the boys at the Point have been jonesing to get their hands on.”
“Exotics? Are we talking exotic fruit? Exotic dancers?” Becks asked, having no clue what the sergeant was talking about.
“I wish!” he replied with a little too much enthusiasm, and then actually blushed. “No, ma’am, we are talking explosives. They call them exotics because they are so unique—and so dangerous.”
“So, this isn’t your father’s nitroglycerine,” Becks said trying to make a joke, but not feeling particularly amused, given the fact that they were about to drive into a storm right behind a vehicular bomb.
The short stretch of Route 80 wasn’t too bad, just a lot of heavy rain. But as soon as they got on Interstate 287 and started heading north, Mother Nature unleashed her fury.
“This is their idea of a 30% chance of a storm developing later on tonight?” Becks complained as she rocked from side to side in the buffeting winds. “Good to know that there are some things that the apocalypse didn’t change—meteorologists still suck at predicting the weather!”
As experienced as Sgt. Colaneri was behind the wheel of the formidable Humvee, he and the other driver soon slowed down to a snail’s pace. Debris peppered the hood and windshield, from fine grit and leaves, to sticks the diameter of a pencil. Undaunted, the mini convoy kept creeping slowly northward, until branches the size of a linebacker’s arm started flying through the air. Over their radios, the sergeant and the driver of the other vehicle decided to stop and call West Point.
“Picatinny convoy, be advised that we are getting our asses kicked here by the weather,” a static-garbled voice from West Point replied. “We have reports of flooding, downed trees, and extremely limited visibility. Suggest you return to base, ASAP.”
After checking in with the arsenal, they got the okay to turn around and head back, but it was already too late. The fierce winds had brought down huge limbs and entire trees so that the road ahead was blocked. Fortunately, they were near an exit ramp, so the two drivers decided to take “a short detour” on local roads and get back on 287 further south, where hopefully the highway was clear.
Becks thought back to all of her parents’ antiquing adventures when she was a kid. Her dad was notorious for his “short detours,” which on more than one occasion necessitated getting a motel room for the night once they discovered just how far from home they had wandered. She hoped the Army personnel had a better lay of the land, but she feared that Y chromosomes predisposed men to roam far afield.
Another strike against them was that they were now entering the No Man’s Land of unpatrolled and unsecured streets. Actually, it immediately became clear it was Zombies’ Land as several large herds caused a series of additional “short detours.” Between avoiding the masses of rain-soaked zombies and the almost zero visibility, within 15 or 20 minutes they were hopelessly lost.
Driving down a typical New Jersey suburban street, bumping into the occasional wandering scummer, the two drivers argued about where they were, what direction to go, and whether or not they should stop and wait out the storm. Becks was sta
rting to get very anxious.
“Everything is under control, right?” she said, more trying to convince herself than pose a question.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t you worry, we’ll be out of here in no time,” the sergeant lied unconvincingly.
He started to say something else, but the words never had a chance to leave his lips.
At first, amidst the blinding downpour and howling winds, Sergeant Colaneri and Becks thought that a big mass of leaves was blowing straight down just ahead of them. An instant later, they realized those leaves were attached to an immense oak tree that had just uprooted and was plummeting toward the lead Humvee like a hammer to a bug. It was all so surreal, like watching a horror movie in slow motion, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the OFF button. However, a heartbeat later it was like someone hit the ignition button on the main engines of a Saturn 5 rocket.
As the huge oak crushed the explosive-filled Humvee, a deafening concussion tore through the air and an orange-red ball of flame expanded like a supernova. The last thing Becks remembered was their Humvee lifting off the ground and spiraling sideways as it broke apart, as if a petulant child had thrown his little toy truck into a wood chipper.
Was she at the bottom of a deep, dark well?
Becks felt disconnected from her body and was unable to open her eyes. There was a high-pitched ringing and muffled buzzing in hers ears, and they felt like they were stuffed with cotton soaked in molasses.
The next second of emerging consciousness brought pure, unadulterated pain.
Had her skull been cleaved in two by an ax? Was there a swarm of rats feasting on her corpse? It was all like some terrifying nightmare where sleep paralysis prevented her from moving or speaking. She was completely helpless and could only experience pain.
HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2 Page 3
