by Jack Wallen
I pressed the button.
A loud hissing sound filled the perimeter. The gas that filled the antechamber could not been seen by the naked eye. The only indication was a slight, sugary smell in the air. By the time the olfactory senses registered the smell, it was too late; the body dropped almost instantaneously.
At least it should have. The system had been used on numerous occasions and never failed. Both human and non-human subjects were affected by the toxin. Delta, however, remained standing. The beast grabbed one of the paralyzed lab technicians, wrapped his jaws around the head, and clamped down. Blood poured out as the head said its last goodbye to the body. Delta tossed the body aside like a chimp throwing feces and chewed through the skull to get to the soft, chewy matter.
My brain ran itself through every possible scenario as to why this was happening. How could the magnificent beast be brought down without prematurely ending its life-cycle? As my brain scanned through my options, Delta snatched another motionless body from the floor and repeated the process of beheading, chewing, and swallowing. I couldn’t help but stop and wonder what the powerless assistant thought. Would the man’s brain silently scream for mercy as the monster opened wide to end his life?
Only one living human remained in the lab. The lone assistant had managed to don a protective mask before the gas could take him down. Before Delta could spot the still-standing man, a plan immediately coalesced. I slapped my hand down on the intercom and instructed the man to run into Delta’s cell. I did not bother to explain myself. Within a matter of seconds Delta followed the man into the cell and I remotely closed the door. Both man and beast were trapped inside the confined space.
I didn’t hear the man perish. The only sign of his death was a splash of blood and viscera on the three-inch thick Plexiglas door. I was thankful time and circumstance didn’t allow for guilt to plague my conscience. Had there been a moment to spare, the thought of sacrificing that man would have had me running to embrace the dark side and give myself over to beheading in Delta’s cell.
Guilt be damned. My mission was far too important to let the loss of a few men take me down.
After the chaos settled, my first thought was how to replace all of my lab assistants. Non-zombified humans had grown scarce in New York. Finding humans with research-grade intelligence was another level of pain-in-the-ass I didn’t care to deal with at the moment.
Regardless of where I was to find replacements, I had to get a few low-level employees to clean up the lab. When the new assistants arrived, it would be impossible to work on a floor covered with blood, bone, and entrails.
*
My office had always been a safe haven for me. There was never any concern for open door policy as my privacy was tantamount to my sanity. No one ever interrupted me; and that moment of privacy was as needed as any I had experienced in a long, long time. So, when my phone beeped, my temper flared almost out of control. I stared at the phone, daring it to chime again. It did. When I picked up the receiver I was pleasantly surprised by Dr. Hawkins’s voice on the other end. Had it been a member of the board I would have yanked them through the phone line and beat their head on my desk until their brains bounced from their skulls like little rubber balls.
“Professor Michaels, the insemination is complete. I believe we will have a successful conception.” An odd sense of pride carried through the line in his voice. And why not? The man had successfully impregnated a healthy human female with the sperm of what could effectively be labeled a monster.
Life and reality had truly taken a turn for the unholy.
Of course Michelle could not know what had been done to her. Eventually she would find out, although we couldn’t be sure how far this particular pregnancy would progress. There was also the possibility the infection from the sperm would carry over to the mother. But if Bethany was considered a reliable control group, infection should not occur. If it did, we would deal with it accordingly.
I wanted to be in the recovery room when Michelle awakened. There was only one sure way to guarantee the subject did not discover the nature of the surgery… be there to lie to her. I wasn’t sure how much time I had before the patient began to drop the dregs of anesthesia, but there was no reason to take a chance on one of the doctors or assistants spilling the beans to Michelle.
The recovery room was always a place of peace. Nurses appeared like gentle angels, what with their silent steps, hushed voices, and healing touch. As soon as I walked into the room I wanted to lie down and let the magic of the nurses caress my heart and soul. I could have certainly used some of that healing magic.
My wait wasn’t long before Michelle started to rouse from her stupor. Her eyes were but slits on her face and the corners of her mouth were cracked and dry. I ran warm water over a cloth and dabbed at her forehead and cheeks to give the girl some relief.
As the effects of the anesthesia began to wear off, Michelle realized something had been done against her will. The violence of her outburst was tempered by the straps holding her securely to the bed.
“What have you done to me?” Michelle slurred.
“Relax. Once you are out of recovery, we’ll chat. For now, rest and heal.” I wanted to implant the seeds of comfort into the woman. Judging from the stressed look on her face, it wasn’t working.
“Please, let me go. Where’s Bethany and Jean?” Tears began streaming down Michelle’s cheeks. My heart hiccuped. I wanted to caress her face, let her know she had a friend; but with the others watching me, I would have been best served to slap the poor girl.
I did neither.
“Your friends are safe. Now, please, rest.” I placed my hand on her shoulder to give her some connection to life. It seemed to work. Upon hearing the news her friends were okay, and feeling the touch of another human, the frail girl relaxed and closed her eyes.
Just as Michelle drifted off, Dr. Hawkins entered the room.
“Give me percentages, Doctor.”
“Eighty-five-percent full term pregnancy. Thirty-five-percent half-term miscarriage. Five percent two-week miscarriage,” the doctor rattled off the numbers as if they were fact. Although I would rather have had a one-hundred-percent forecast, eighty-five percent would be close enough to satisfy the fat bastards sitting behind the oak desks.
“We cannot afford to fail. Any failure at this point would be catastrophic.” My warning was honest… Dr. Hawkins knew it.
“I will monitor the patient personally.” Nerves punctuated the man’s sentence. Sweat glistened on his upper lip.
I thanked the man and left the recovery room. As important as Michelle was to the program, everything hinged on success with Bethany. If Bethany’s child went unborn, there was no hope remaining for mankind.
Chapter 7
Undisclosed building, New York City
August 2013
There was a palpable tension hovering over every surface of the lab. Both Dr. Godwin and Professor Michaels stood, holding their breath, watching the projected image on the wall. The image in question was being transmitted from a powerful microscope shining its mighty lens down on what could possibly be a miracle.
The two brilliant minds had been collaborating on what they had dubbed the Heizer Sequence for over a year. The sequence of DNA strands was named after one of the venture capitalists funding the lab and mission. No one actually knew who Heizer was, but what the namesake was helping to fund would change the world.
The doctor and the professor had stood in this very same position countless times over the last twelve months. Each time had proven an exercise in futility as they watched the cells combine, and then die. Clockwork. Yet every time this phase of the work was reached, both pairs of eyes were glued to the screen, expecting different results.
This time, however, something unexpected occurred. When the cells combined, nothing died. The sequence continued.
“Danielle, are you seeing what I believe I am seeing?” The elder gentleman peeled his bifocals from his head and p
ointed at the screen.
“I’m afraid to say anything.” Professor Michaels stared, wide-eyed, at the screen, unsure if she was even awake.
“I realize this is far from definitive, but do you understand what this means?” The smile on Godwin’s face revealed a child-like glee.
She did know. Danielle also knew that the contained life being displayed on the makeshift video screen was proof that their one, true goal was attainable. This newly born life would alter the course of the human race.
As the cells continued to dance on the wall before them a phone chimed in the background, but the biological breakthrough on the wall was far too intoxicating to allow the mundane sound of a phone to pull anyone’s attention away. Miracles were so rare these days, when they did occur they must be observed and revered.
“We’ve done it.” The woman gently placed her hand on the shoulder of her colleague.
“Yes, my dear, I believe we have.”
Chapter 8
Streets of New York City
December, 2015
The car eased into park in front of a bar that had seen better days. The streets were clear of any visible signs of the undead.
“You’re driving. Now is not the time for drinks.” The new passenger surprised Sam with his declaration.
Sam was not there for drinks. Although the thought of self-medicating his way through this shit storm had crossed his mind on numerous occasions, this was not one of those moments. Sam was a man of action. Though the lack of one knee meant action was a bit slower and more cautious, Sam did have a plan.
Or at least a reason for stopping in front of a bar.
“We’re not drinking, Dom. We’re meeting. Come on.” Sam opened up the driver-side door and lifted his ruined knee out of the car.
“Meeting who?” Dom asked as he exited the car.
“You’ll see.” Sam stood and nearly fell over when he placed his full weight on his bad leg. Even with the brace Jean had cobbled together, it was impossible to make use of his left knee.
Dom spotted Sam fumbling and ran to assist. When he saw the hardware serving as a brace, his eyes nearly overtook his entire face.
“Dude! Shit, that’s… damn. What happened to your knee?” Dom’s voice shot up an octave.
“Gunshot. I deserved it. But now, I make up for my mistakes.” Sam thanked Dom for the aid, but started off unassisted.
“That must have been one hell of a mistake.” Dom almost smiled before he scanned the block for something that would help Sam walk. “Here … it might be a bit heavy, but it’ll keep you from fucking up what’s left of that knee.”
Thick, muscular fingers wrapped around a piece of iron pipe nearly three feet long and offered it to Sam.
“And when I’m not using it to walk, I can use it to bust open some zombie head.” Sam took the pipe and gave it a swing before he placed an end on the ground and walked forward a step or two. The sound of the heavy steel was menacing as he slow-stepped forward.
“Follow me, but let me do the talking.”
Dom followed Sam into the dark building. A cloud of settling gray ash seemed to trail behind them, making the scene a bit more ominous than need be.
The door shut behind them, cutting off nearly every spot of light from the outside world. In the darkness and gloom sound was muffled, like nighttime in a thick, winter snow. Just before the silence settled into comfort, the click of a gun hammer being drawn back echoed through the blackness.
“You move an inch, you can kiss the other knee fuck off.”
The two newcomers stood in silence as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. It didn’t take long to realize how bereft of light the room was. But after what seemed like eons of dark silence, a blinding light shined on Sam and Dom.
“Commander Sam Leamy, you sorry son of a pig-fucker. I figured you’d be zombie chow by now.” The disembodied voice was immediately recognized by Sam as Sergeant Courtney Sellers. Sellers was quite possibly the most bad-ass female that ever existed. With a laugh that could bowl you over as quickly as her right hook, Sellers was a prankster and a goof ball, but one of the most faithful soldiers a commander could ever hope for.
“Sellers, shouldn’t you be out working the street corners? With all those Moaners out there, you might finally pick up some tricks,” Sam ribbed the still-hidden Sellers, hoping to pry her from obfuscation.
“Front and center soldier!” Where jokes failed, commands would never miss.
Courtney crept up behind Sam and Dom and pressed a knife in the back of each. She hadn’t anticipated the speed and agility of an NFL running back, so when Dom shot to the ground, spun around her, and took Sellers’s feet out from under her, she was speechless.
“What’s wrong, Sellers? Met your match?” Sam laughed.
When Dom realized Sellers wasn’t a threat, he helped the downed soldier to her feet and apologized.
“You’re cute,” Sellers smacked Dom on the cheek. “I say we take this to a bed and see who winds up taking who down.”
Silence.
“So Leamy, what’s the deal? Things must be pretty desperate if you’re getting the band back together.” Sellers pulled three chairs over to a table so they could sit, then reached behind the bar and pulled out a bag of raw peanuts. As Sam explained the situation, peanut shells flew in every direction.
“Let me get this straight. You need us to break into the UN Building, one of the most protected buildings in New York, and rescue a woman pregnant with a dead zombie’s baby?” Sellers recounted the plan with enough incredulity added to make the idea sound completely insane, even to those involved.
“That’s about right, Sugar Pants.” Leamy brought up the old nickname to lighten the mood. The threesome stared at one another across the table, waiting for someone to flinch.
“And where’s the challenge?” Sellers smiled, giving Sam all the handshake he needed.
“I knew I could count on you.” Sam tossed back a handful of shelled peanuts.
“You said the ‘rest of the gang.’ Does that mean there are more of you? If we’re breaking into some government building, we’ll need more than just us,” Dom chimed in, making sure he was included with the plan.
“It’s not just any government building. It’s the government building in the state of New York. And I believe Sam here could break into that place alone, even with only one knee.” Sellers tossed a nod towards her commander.
“Damn straight, I could. But we’ll have a few more grunts tagging along with us on this mission. No need for me to hog all the glory yet again,” Sam laughed.
Sam and Courtney tossed ice-cold, mocking glares at one another, an inside joke shared between soldiers.
“You don’t mean…” Sellers asked nervously.
“I do,” Sam responded with a grin that could only eat shit.
“Fuck,” Courtney bit at the air, stood, and disappeared behind the bar again. This time she returned with three bottled waters and handed one each to her comrades.
Dom opened his water immediately and sucked down half before he spoke.
“Am I missing something? I feel like you two are speaking more with your mouths closed than open.”
“Yes, Dom, you are missing a few things. First and foremost, Sellers here is really a man in drag… and not very convincing drag at that. Second, I am an alien from a distant galaxy.” Sam couldn’t finish the lie without cracking up.
“Shit commander, you had him at drag.” Sellers’s laugh nearly shook the bars glasses from their shelving.
Before Dom could realize the joke was on him, the front door to the bar opened and a bitter December wind whipped in. Sellers shot up and had her gun already aimed at the forehead of whoever (or whatever) was about to amble into the room. When nothing presented itself, Sam, Courtney, and Dom all relaxed their guard the slightest bit. What they didn’t realize, was in the excitement and show of Sellers’ entrance, another soldier had crept into the room. The trio was completely unaware of the man wit
h the bowie knife sneaking up behind them.
The knife blade was on Sellers’s jugular before she could react. Her hands reached up to grab the offending arm, but was too late.
“You disappoint me, Sellers. I never thought I’d see you let your guard down.” The voice of the slimiest field op to ever don a uniform hissed into the woman’s ear.
Dirt Bag. Slender. Sinewy. A cloud of dirt and badness always seemed to hang in the air he occupied.
Once she had confirmation of the voices owner, Sellers jammed her right elbow into the soft tissue of the attackers solar plexus. The man dropped the knife and fell to his knees. Sellers stood, towering over the fallen man, and spit her words onto his prone face.
“Never drop your guard around me, Dirt Bag.”
The man on the floor was holding his chest, scrambling to draw life-giving air into his lungs. Sellers continued to stand over the soldier, content with watching him struggle.
“Dom, I’d like to introduce you to Dirt Bag. Yes, that is his nickname, but it’s one he’s earned.”
Sam, ever the gentleman, gestured down to the writhing man. “Sellers, tell our good friend how this soldier came to be known as Dirt Bag.”
The soldier on the floor continued his struggle to breathe.
“Dom… it’s like this: There is nothing that man won’t do. If he can make a buck off something, he’ll do it. If Dirt Bag can cheat you, he will. If Dirt Bag can rob you, he will. Dirt Bag has no moral convictions and nothing is too base or to amoral for this man.” Courtney reached her hand down and gave Dirt Bag a swift smack on the back causing the suffocating man to jerk his head up and pull in a lungful of air.
