by Jack Wallen
“Forgive me, Zombie, for I have sinned.”
The zombie could do nothing but continue to eat and moan. Piece by piece my gray matter disappeared into the rotten gullet of the undead messiah. As the last morsel of my skull candy was swallowed, the tomb began to violently vibrate. The oscillation of the room was accompanied by a high-pitched noise which brought about a searing pain in the center of what would have been my brain.
“And unto you, a child is born.” Zombie Jesus lifted both of his arms toward me as he spoke.
Without warning, I was pregnant.
Without warning, I was in labor.
Without warning, I gave birth.
The child was born undead. Zombie Jesus handed me a silver-tipped spear and nodded toward the moaning infant. I raised the spear and the words seemed to emanate from everywhere.
“Die zombie die!”
A chorus of disembodied voices sang as I plunged the tip of the spear into the baby. As the baby began singing a horribly out of tune, disjointed rendition of the Hallelujah chorus…
I woke.
The dream wouldn’t leave my conscious mind, which was unusual for me. Generally dreams dribbled away immediately. This one needed to dissipate now or I would be drowning myself in a bathtub filled with hate and self-loathing. The images of me giving myself over to Zombie Jesus were burned into my memory. All I could do was sit in my bed roll to blink and yawn the nightmare away.
When the hazy fog finally cleared from my eyes reality came and smacked me straight in the face. In desperation, I had done something horrible. The young doctor I had infected was still unconscious. Based on the amount of sweat, the rapid breathing and elevated pulse, the infection was already beginning to amplify. What had I done?
Another reality reared its hideous head – this plan had not been thought out beyond this point. I had to do something quickly or the freshly made undead male would wake to do what zombies did best.
I had already given my brain over once to Zombie Jesus – I had no intention of doing so again.
The option with the best outcome would be to time a plea for help just as the zombie came to. This could not look planned, or everything I had worked for would be lost.
It finally dawned on me that what was necessary was completely out of my character. A gun was safely tucked in my desk, to be used for emergency purposes. We all had them… just in case.
This was my just in case.
The most important detail was the timing. I couldn’t just pull out my weapon and lay waste to the beast as it rested, practically harmless, on the floor of my office. No. This had to look convincingly like self-defense. I had to wait until the beast awoke, made an attempt to attack me, and then send a bullet into the newly born monster’s skull to shred the remaining thought processes traveling across hay-wire synapses.
As crazy as it sounded, that was my plan.
Chapter 24
Streets of New York
December, 2015
The idea developed so quickly in Sam’s brain, it hardly had time to flesh itself out before its owner decided to share.
“We have to open up the U.N. building to a few undead party crashers,” Commander Leamy said with a proud smirk.
“Sweet suicide, Sam, that is fucking brilliant!” Sellers gave the back of her leader’s head a customary ‘atta boy’ whack.
“I don’t get it,” Dom confessed.
“Tactics 101. If the playing field is level, only the most skilled will survive. There are two ways to bring equilibrium to the fight: One – we rid New York of zombies. Two: We lead the zombies into the U.N..” Dirt Bag brought the lesson home. “You see, the ZDC are fighting us and only us. We, on the other hand are fighting them and the festering horde of brain munchers.”
“Difference is, we know how to fight and they don’t.” Ronald nearly giggled his addition.
“And just how are we going –”
Dom’s sentence was cut short when Sam turned the corner onto the block of the U.N. Building.
“Fuck my sister,” Sellers slowly proclaimed.
What they saw went well beyond the realm of bad day, leap frogging over the cataclysmic, and landing directly on doomsday. The entire city block was teeming with the undead. There was hardly room on the streets for movement, the monsters were so thick.
“What in the…”
“How in the…”
“Who in the…”
The questions bounced off of the inside of the car until it seemed there was as much chaos within as there was without. The car stopped, motionless, and finally fell silent as Sam’s brain spun in circles chasing a plan.
Without saying a word, Sam put the car in reverse and slowly backed away from the city-block-sized mob of moaners and screamers.
“Who’s up for a little zip line action?” Sam lobbed the rhetorical bomb into the cockpit.
Sam’s plan was simple. Two members of the team would access the U.N. the same way Bethany and company did – zip lines. It worked before, it would work again. Once across, the two-man team would drop repelling lines down the back side of the building until they were close enough to hit the back door with grenades. Not only would it blow the door down, it would also attract enough of the undead to even the odds.
The plan did have one drawback – when it came time for Sam and his troops to enter the building, they would have two enemies to fight, one of which was a real bitch to take down. The only upside was that the enemy would have the same dilemma. Since Sam’s squad had more experience fighting the undead, the odds were in their favor.
It still wasn’t a bet many would take.
This was it … Sam’s Bruce Willis moment. He was hurt, lives were on the line, he knew he was up against a legion of the damned – yet he swallowed his fear and gave the go. When anyone else would rather run, find a nice warm corner to piss themselves in, and forget what was going on around them, Sam did what he did best…
Bruce. Fucking. Willis.
As expected, everyone in the car had absolute faith in Sam and his plan. They always did, they always would.
Dirt Bag and Sellers were chosen for the duty, since they both had more repelling time than anyone. It didn’t hurt that Dirt Bag was a munitions expert, so timing a grenade toss was child’s play. As much as Sam hated sending Sellers to a possible unknown conclusion, he knew she was the next best choice. Sam refused to admit to himself he had feelings ‘outside military issue’ for Sellers.
The car came to a stop up-close-and-personal to the entrance of the neighboring building. It was a bit disconcerting that so many of the horde were concentrating on the U.N. Building. There was, after all, mile after mile of brain buffet awaiting them throughout the city of New York. But something inside the U.N. Building held the undead nation’s rapturous attention.
They wanted in.
They would get their wish.
Sellers and Dirt Bag hopped out of the car, backpacks and rappelling rope bouncing on their shoulders, with the instructions to keep their communications open and the commentary flowing. Thanks to a set of military-grade walkies, this was a no-brainer.
No brainer. The phrase held an altogether different meaning now.
The dynamic duo reached the building. Sam let out a sigh. The last thing the rogue group needed was to lose two of its members – let alone the one woman in his life he actually thought he had a chance with. Sam never wanted to admit he cared for Courtney, but the truth was, he did. But he knew feelings would do nothing but threaten the integrity of the team and the mission.
Deja fucking vu. Sam thought.
“We’re in the building.” Sellers’s voice carried perfectly over the radio.
“Don’t take candy from strangers,” Sam spoke the phrase he’d often used to warn his team to be on the watch for the enemy.
Ding. Sam heard the chime of the elevator.
“Second floor,” Sellers followed up.
Ding.
“Third floor.”
&n
bsp; Ding.
“Fourth floor.”
“Okay, Sellers, enough with the color commentary. The usual updates will be fine.” The rolling of Sam’s eyes could be heard in his voice.
“You’re no fun, Leamy!” Sellers quipped back.
“Not paid to be fun, woman. But if it’s fun you want, I’ll show you fun you can’t handle when you return.” Sam opted to keep the mood light.
“So Sammy –” Dirt Bag’s voice came out of the radio speakers.
“Talk to me, D-Bag.”
Everyone laughed at the reference.
“We get the backside of the building blown open and the place floods with zombies, how are we getting in? We can’t just wait it out. We do that and your girlfriend will find herself narrowing her scope of thought down to one impulse – snuffing out the sound inside her own brains.”
Sam had thought this through. The plan was so simple it wasn’t even complete. After the entrance was breached, Sam and his merry men would wait long enough for The ZDC to react – sending much of their show of force to function as a first (and last) line of defense. The bulk of The ZDC would be on the lower floors defending the fortress, opening the roof for the soldiers to enter. Once that happened, the upper floors would be free.
Sam was confident the leaders of The ZDC wouldn’t dare venture down to greet the undead party goers, so locating and capturing one John Burgess would be as easy as church with a zombie.
Nothing was ever simple in post-apocalyptic America. Occam was a damn fool.
Sam relayed the plan to the group. Standard operating procedure rarely provided the opportunity for subordinates to question their ranking officer. That was simply not a protocol Sam was willing to adhere to when the situation required missions to be executed with extreme precision. But even though questions and improvements were encouraged, none came.
Faith in absolutes.
Sam’s jaw muscles fluttered as he thought about the possibility of something going tragically wrong with the plan. He couldn’t allow his team to know he had such doubts. Life in the battlefield never worked that way for Commander Leamy.
The plan was set. The participants ready. It was go time. Sam clicked the talk button on the radio. “Sellers, location?”
“On the roof, sir.” It was all business from this point on. Sam appreciated that from his finest.
“The original zip line is still intact,” Dirt bag reported.
One less hurdle to overcome.
“Go!” The order was given. And the line of communication temporarily went dead.
“Is this really gonna work?” Dom was the first (and only) member of the team to finally question the madness.
“Who knows,” Sam replied off-handedly.
“But –”
“It’s the plan – the only plan we have. One way or another we’ll make it work. That is how we roll,” Ronald butted in.
“No… I get it. It’s cool. I’m not doubting anything, just making sure no stone goes upturned,” Dom spoke nervously.
“Unturned,” Sam corrected.
“Huh?”
“You mean No stone goes unturned.” The commander offered an almost fatherly smile along with the correction.
“We’re clear. Ready to drop,” Sellers crackled on the radio.
“You are go.” The final go-ahead given, Sam took a deep breath and bit his lip.
The three men in the car silently, breathlessly stared at one another. The moment bordered on the surreal. Inside the automobile everything had progressed in perfect order, while on the outside the world continued to spiral further into a pit of chaos.
“How long after the blast before we make our move?” Ronald asked. “And how will you make it with that bum knee?”
Sam knew all along he wouldn’t be part of the rescue. Knew he’d be relegated to doing what he’d done before – commandeer the getaway car. Only this time he hoped there’d be a better reason to drive away than just to save his own ass.
“As soon as we hear the earth-shattering kaboom, you and Dom will make your way to the top of this building, zip over to the U.N. Building, meet Sellers and Dirt Bag, and then start the search for the targets. I would assume The ZDC will react immediately to the breach on the first floor.” Sam wanted to continue on, give fine-grain details of how he expected the plan to shake down, but before he could continue, the blast rocked the car.
It was time for the second wave. Without a word, Ronald and Dom left the car and sprinted to the entryway of the building.
Sam’s only real concern was locating Bethany. Outside of that one goal, he couldn’t muster up a damn to give.
The car went silent, which didn’t suit the nervous man one bit. But at the moment, silence might be the best environment for guiding his soldiers through this mission from Hell.
“We have visuals on Sellers and DB,” Ronald followed protocol by reporting in.
Good man.
“Make sure everyone is locked and loaded before clearing that threshold. Everyone goes in alive – ”
“Everyone comes out alive,” Sellers completed the thought. “You got it sir.”
“Move out, soldiers. Be strong, be brave, be smart.” The leader rattled off his cheesy motto that had become a symbol of good luck for some time now.
Luck. Was it an irrelevant idea at this point?
Chapter 25
Undisclosed location
May, 2015
Begin encryption.
My dearest Danielle,
If you are reading this message then it is a safe assumption you have successfully used the encryption matrix I sent you. If, however, someone else has intercepted that matrix and is now reading this missive, things very well may have progressed faster than I had assumed they would.
What I am about to share with you, as you would expect, must not go any further than your eyes. Although I dread the idea of jeopardizing your safety, there are events and schemes that you must be made aware of.
Danielle, they have created a genetic sequence that acts in a similar way to the Heizer Sequence – only the goal is not to cure, but to infect. It was my discovery of the creation of their sequence that led me to realize the true nature of the generator. My device is to act as an amplifier for their virus. Their plan is to distribute the sequence in a series of scientific tests masquerading as a cure-all to certain ethnicities targeted for their similarities. After all the pseudo-inoculations have taken place, the generator will be powered up to amplify the effects of the sequence. The resultant mutation of the sequence, as driven by the generator, will have profound and lasting effects on the entire human race.
Danielle, there is nothing I can do about this other than warn you. Protect yourself and those you love. This is going to happen and it might well herald the end of the human race.
I dearly miss you.
Love, Lindsay.
End encryption.
Chapter 26
U.N. Building New York, NY
December, 2015
Sparkles of dust danced across the lifeless air of my office. I followed a particular fleck from the middle of the room until it settled on a coffee table littered with useless magazines and cloudy rings left behind by sweaty glasses. The fleck landed dead center inside one of the circles.
My eyes locked onto the dust, it was the only way I could keep the headache at bay. I hated drug-induced hangovers.
The soon-to-be zombie was still out cold. He could wake any moment, which was reason enough to cause my pulse to rise well above normal. It had to occur soon, before anyone grew suspicious of our extended absence from the lab. The gun was in my hand, shaking and ready to be put to good use.
All that needed to happen was for that dead man on the carpet to stand up and attack me.
“Come on, damn it.” I gave the corpse-wannabe a nudge with my foot. Said corpse let out a moan.
I nudged again and was greeted by yet another moan.
“Wake up! You can do it.”
The right arm twitched in a less-than-evolved motion. This was happening, really happening. Without premeditation I lifted the gun so the barrel was aiming in the direction of his head. If the trigger was pulled too quickly, the bullet would certainly miss the target. I wasn’t adept at shooting and knew I would actually have to take my time to hit the mark.
My foot kicked out again, this time with significant force. The answering moan was loud, proud, and ready to cry havoc to let loose the dogs of war.
Without warning the thing jumped up. There was no awkward ambling or jerky movement. The beast was as agile as a cat. As soon as the monster was upright it released a screech that threatened to rattle the eardrums out of my head.
Before I could take the time to aim the gun properly, the zombie was on me. Blood was pouring from the reanimated man’s mouth – he must have bitten through his own tongue. The blood was pooling on the floor between us. The gurgling sounds issuing from his mouth were so horrifying I wanted to just give in and let him do what he had to do, take me out of the equation for good.
Between horrifically audible drips of blood the zombie’s hands reached up and grabbed my head. The thing had a grip I knew I’d never break. As my head was being pulled forward, toward the maw of death, I did everything I could to get the barrel of the gun to the monster’s temple. Before I could do so, the foul-smelling mouth was clamped on my forehead. The beast was going to attempt to crack through my skull in a single bite.
I couldn’t pull the trigger fast enough to launch gray matter into the air space around us. The undead doctor’s teeth broke the skin above my eyes. The bite burned like the man’s saliva had mutated to some form of acid.
That was that. I was infected.
The moment fueled a rage I didn’t know I had. I managed to manipulate the gun enough to fire off a single, deadly shot that penetrated the man’s skull and dug a death tunnel through his brain.
