Die Zombie Die (I Zombie Book 3)

by Jack Wallen

  “Burgess’s office is at the end of this hall.” I swallowed my revulsion and instructed the team.

  Even with the Hellish happenings going on around us, the soldiers moved silently and smoothly towards the office. When Sellers made it to the door of the office she quickly turned into the doorway, her weapon trained on whoever, or whatever, was inside.

  “John Burgess?” Sellers barked.

  If John replied, it couldn’t be heard.

  “You are to come with us.” Another sharp command from the intense female.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Burgess’s voice jumped out of the office.

  “Sir, that is not up for discussion. Now, please come out of the office and follow me.” Sellers’s tone grew a notch sharper.

  Without warning the soldier hoisted her gun toward the ceiling and fired off a shot. “That was the only warning you get, sir.”

  After Sellers’s last command, Burgess emerged from the room. When he caught sight of me, his eyes doubled in size.

  “Michaels, what in fuck’s name are they doing with us?” the greasy, overweight man queried me.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. If I told Burgess the truth, he’d immediately react and attempt to either stop me or warn another member of The ZDC. I looked to Sellers, who obviously picked up on my fear. She prodded Burgess forward with the punishing end of her weapon. The fat man slowly stepped forward. I said nothing and marched onward.

  The screams continued, as did the moaning, shattering, and crashing. Everything was surrendering to chaos. The natural order was losing. How did we let things get so out of control? It was within our means to stop this disaster and we didn’t. As if ruled by some other design, The Zero Day Collective allowed chaos to become the one, true king.

  It was all a colossal mistake.

  The urge to grab a gun and blow Burgess’s brain into the air around him filled me. It took every ounce of restraint I had to stop my hand from reaching out. After all, wouldn’t I be doing the world a huge favor by ending the life of a genocidal maniac?

  “Isn’t this glorious?” John laughed.

  No one replied. No one could. How did you answer such a question? There was nothing – no science, no philosophy, no religion, no politics that could logically reply to such an insane question. Even if someone did manage a reply, it would only be to put the malignancy out of our misery. Obviously, someone wanted the man very much alive.

  “Through the door.” Sellers shoved the cold metal of her gun into the back of the fleshy head of Burgess.

  “Take it easy, bitch.” John’s voice didn’t even crack, as if he still retained even the slightest bit of power. How utterly clueless the man was.

  “Through the door and up the stairs.” The woman in charge remained calm.

  “Let’s just fucking waste the bastard right here, right now,” one of the male soldiers practically begged.

  “We have our orders, Dirt Bag.” Sellers had no sympathy.

  “Aw come on!” The pleading soldier whined in return.

  “Go. You get the okay from Sam and the fat fuck is all yours.” Sellers winked. Obviously an inside joke was just passed around, because the rest of the team broke out in gales of laughter.

  Burgess found no humor in the moment. In fact, his face and neck wore the brightest red shade I had seen on a straight man. I was never intimate with John, but I knew that look – he was about to let loose a tirade of hatred.

  “What in the Hell is going on? And who are you lunatics? If you are not here to rescue me from this disaster, then you are my enemy –.”

  “And if we are your enemy, then what?” Dirt Bag stood, nose to nose, with Burgess.

  “Then you’ll die.” Spit shot from John’s lips as he hissed his reply.

  The second the last syllable left the CEO’s mouth, the man called Dirt Bag cocked his head back and cracked his forehead against the unsuspecting fat man. The audible knocking noise was sickening.

  “Oh my God! You’re fucking crazy!” John’s hand flew up to his head as he spoke, his overly large body teetering as if he’d had a bit too much to drink.

  “You’re damn skippy I’m fucking crazy. The whole goddamn world is crazy, and who do we have to blame for that?”

  Before Dirt Bag could continue, Sellers had her hand to his mouth and shot him a look that said ‘Say nothing more.’ The scrawny man took the order and silenced himself.

  The obvious leader of the group took her gun and trained its sights on Burgess. The man blinked once, twice, three times… and finally started to move.

  Our little army began making its way up the stairwell. The reverberating sounds of screaming and moaning accompanied our escape with the soundtrack to the end of the world, driving us upward much faster. What I wouldn’t have given to reach out and push Burgess down into the abyss of doom below. But, for some reason, the soldiers had another purpose for the man. Honestly, I didn’t care – so long as they helped me escape so I could finally begin to do some good.

  Strangely enough, what seemed even more important than saving the world to me was winning over Bethany. The woman had gone through things no human should have to endure (and many wouldn’t have been capable of enduring). She needed to know that there was a light at the end of this proverbial post-apocalyptic tunnel. I suppose I should say it was strange, knowing what I knew about Bethany.

  There were still secrets left unspoken.

  “One more flight,” Sellers barked.

  I could practically smell the topside air.

  When the door flew open, the early afternoon light spilled in, temporarily blinding us. I soaked in the brilliance and warmth. It was glorious.

  “Hurry!” one of the soldiers called out.

  Caught in the mesmerizing glare of the sun, I missed the growing sounds of screeching filling the stairwell. What I didn’t miss was Bethany, standing on the roof, her arms spread to take in the air and freedom. The look on the once-captive woman’s face was practically angelic – as if she were about to caress the cheek of God himself.

  “We don’t have much time.” Another command from another soldier.

  Once we were all topside we were greeted by a rather confusing sight.

  “Well, well, well – Michaels and Burgess. Fleeing for your life? Or fleeing from the group?” It was James Edson, another Board member – and a supreme prick.

  “What the fuck?” Sellers screamed.

  “You fucking cut our zip line?” Dom and Dirt Bag followed up simultaneously.

  Edson laughed, a bit too loud and a bit too long. “Yeah, funny that. You see Michaels, Bethany is our property and you are a traitor. Of course we suspected such behavior and planted a few bugs in your office and your lab. We knew you were developing a cure on your own. In fact, we were counting on it. That cure you carry is our ticket out of this Hell and you are going to give it to me. Now!”

  “You’re kidding right? All you want to do is shelve this cure until the demand drives the price as high as possible.” Bile wanted to race the words up my throat.

  “That’s commerce, bitch,” Edson screamed.

  “That’s inhuman!” My voice rang out, calling the undead faster to the roof.

  “Humanity is only measured in profit. Now, give me the damn cure!”

  Edson took off toward me, but before he could get close enough to do any damage, Dirt Bag finished his life. One shot, through the head, and down he went. The world just became a somewhat better place.

  “Dom, call up Sam. We need another zip line, pronto!” Sellers demanded and tossed a radio Dom’s way.

  All we could do was wait as a horde of Screamers and Moaners ascended the stairs of the building toward us. We were an all you can eat, zombie buffet in an elegant rooftop setting.

  Chapter 32

  Outside U.N. Building

  December, 2015

  Sam didn’t take the time to reply to Dom’s request. He had to dig into the trunk of the car to locate another zip line gun. He was
just about to give up when the familiar handle revealed itself from under a folded fire blanket. Sam yanked the gun out and grabbed his radio.

  “Affirmative. I have the gun in hand and am about to make my way to the roof. Hold on to your asses, this may take some time.”

  The commander grabbed a pistol for each back pocket, slung a machine gun over his shoulder, and took off for the building. He had no idea if the others were in immediate danger, or if they completed their mission. All Sam Leamy knew was that his soldiers needed him and he would, on pain of death, heed that call.

  Overcoming the pain in his knee, Sam began the slower than normal hobble to the front door. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to climb a single flight of stairs, or else the gang may as well give themselves up or toss themselves over the edge of the roof.

  As soon as he entered the building one of his pistols came out to play. It was a bit awkward, holding the zip gun in one hand while aiming a gun in the other. Fortunately for Sam, the windows of chaos were currently closed, so caution need not be tossed to the wind.

  Thanks to his ever-fucked knee, Sam had no choice but to take a ride on the elevator of doom – a means of getting from point A to point B the soldier was not fond of. At least with stairs there was always the hope of escaping. In an elevator, if the doors opened up and hate stared into your eyes from across the threshold, there was only one way out.

  Fortunately, luck didn’t piss on Sam’s boots and the elevator car was happily waiting on the ground floor. Neither hate, nor any of its cousins greeted the passenger when the doors opened. In fact, when the door opened, the only sign of life was the Muzak’d version of a Nickelback song.

  “Kill me now.” Sam hung his head at the sound of the song.

  Braving the horrible sound, Sam stepped into the car and his thick, calloused finger pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator complied. The situation practically demanded the ride be the slowest trip up twenty or so flights ever recorded.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” Sam pressed the button over and over – hoping his impatience would somehow be recognized by the inanimate thing and it would sympathetically speed up.

  “I have people to save!” Leamy called out as if the elevator phone would ring and God would be on the other end informing him to hold on to his ass.

  The music continued worming its way into Sam’s ear. Had there been an ice pick he might have been tempted to end that particular misery.

  “I never liked you, Nickelback. Now, I hate you.” The proclamation fell on deaf ears.

  Ding.

  Pause.

  Ding.

  Pause.

  Ding.

  Pause.

  The pattern was infuriating. There were lives on the line.

  The elevator stopped two floors too soon. Something was amiss. Sam raised his weapon for what would be a perfect head shot on the average zombie. Strangely enough, the fear managed to grip his nerve, causing his gun to rattle in his hands. Unknown territory for a man who had, up until Hell upended the world, not known fear.

  “Fuck,” Sam whispered.

  The elevator door opened to an empty hall. Very slowly the commander inched out to try to get a look at the surrounding area. Just as his head crossed the plane of the door, familiar cold fingers wrapped around his skull and yanked him into the hall.

  Awkwardly, almost dangerously so, the living of the two beings wound up on the floor. Standing above Sam Leamy was the ugliest beast he’d ever seen. Something was different about this member of the undead nation. Not only was the thing bigger and stronger, but its spine was covered in scaly plates and its fingernails were incredibly long and razor sharp. Those talons dug into the flesh covering Sam’s skull as it tossed him to the side.

  Before Sam could get a lock on the thing’s head, it was on him again, only this time with its full weight. The zombie had its knees on Sam’s arms. No matter how hard the soldier struggled, he was going nowhere. Leamy attempted to kick up with his good leg. Nothing. Push the beast over and off him. Nothing.

  The situation looked grim – as in Reaper.

  After the first chunk of Sam’s heading hitting the floor, things looked much worse.

  “Fuck!” The trapped man screamed out in frustration. Stars twinkled in his vision.

  Chunk.

  The stars were turning, forming new shapes and meanings. Just when it was certain Sam’s lights were going to be permanently extinguished, the sound of a single shot was heard. The undead assailant dropped like an overripe bag of meat.

  Stars were still spinning in his eyes as Sam slowly sat up.

  “You one of us, or are you one of them?” The stranger stood over Sam, gun pointed at his head.

  It took Sam a moment to form an answer, his brain still rocked from the head banger’s ball. “I guess that would depend on who’s asking.”

  “You hurt?”

  “You blind?” Sam snapped.

  The stranger was next to the fallen commander offering a helping hand. Leamy accepted and, when he was upright, found himself staring down on a fairly smallish, bald, black man with a stare that could easily slice through the thickest hardened steel. The man’s eyes had stories to tell, all of them overshadowed by his surviving the apocalypse alone. Someday, maybe, he’d have some semblance of family to whom he could tell his tales.

  “Name’s Jamal. I am… was the lead security officer for this building. Now I’m just the only survivor.” The man offered a welcome hand along with the welcome tone.

  Sam accepted the offer and shook the guard’s hand.

  “I’m Sam. Sam Leamy. I don’t mean seem rude, but I have to get to the roof now. Can you take me there?” Sam spoke as he moved back toward the elevator.

  “What’s got you itchin’ to be on the roof?”

  “Get in and I’ll explain on the way up.”

  It only took a few floors until Jamal was up to speed on the generalities of the situation. And, thankfully, the guard was willing to offer a helping hand… one that just happened to be a damn good shot. Once the explanation was complete, the two men finished the ride in silence. Fear held powerful sway over the human voice.

  The elevator dinged its final stop and the security guard guided his new BFF to the roof exit. As soon as Sam stepped foot onto the roof his little rag-tag army spotted him from the other building and called out his name. The cries were not in celebration. Something was wrong.

  Chapter 33

  U.N. Building

  December 2015

  The stampeding footsteps and screams were getting nearer. It was only a matter of time before the door to the roof flew open and the undead horde spilled out. Dom and Dirt Bag had done their best to seal the door closed. Their success wouldn’t last long.

  Our only means of escape was lost and we were waiting for Sam to come to the rescue. The whole scenario was absolutely ludicrous.

  We were trapped, with no means of escape and a legion of zombies about to shuffle us off this mortal coil. Strangely enough, I was struck by a single question – how could we have been so blind to the consequences of our actions? I knew I had ulterior motives that begged the forgiveness of mankind from the beginning. The Zero Day Collective, on the other hand – Burgess in particular, had motives that simply could not be forgiven.

  I was overcome with the urge to push Burgess from the roof and point and laugh as he plummeted to his death. But that would be too easy an out for a man who had committed such atrocities against the human race. The only true fitting death for such a bastard would be for him to be infected by the nightmare he created and left to rot and dumpster dive in the skulls of humanity.

  Just as the thought of killing Burgess was growing ever more palatable, the door to the roof flew open and the first of the undead crashed the party. No one had time to react as the screamer flew across the roof and dove at Michelle. The speed and force of the zombie attack sent both victim and assailant rolling toward the edge of the roof. The bodies stopped just shy of
going over, the zombie on top of Michelle, clawing and biting. The beast grabbed Michelle’s head and began thumping it onto the roof. The sound was nauseating. Michelle screamed out for help.

  Dirt Bag was happy to oblige the wailing woman. The soldier dropped to one knee, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The bullet covered the space between weapon and brain within the span of a blink. The zombie rolled off of Michelle and over the edge of the roof, his hands still clamped on Michelle’s head.

  Michelle’s scream was brief. There was no question as to her status when we heard the muted thump of her landing.

  “Michelle! No!” Bethany cried out and ran for the roof.

  Dirt Bag ran after the girl and pulled her back to the group. She fought him, fought hard. She just wanted to see, understand, know. We all did. We never would.

  The horde allowed us no time for mourning. Neither did Sam. Over the radio we heard Sam give us a warning and the zip gun was fired. The chuck flew into the wall of the exit and immediately took hold. After a second shot we had our escape route once again.

  Bethany, being the single most important human being alive on the planet, grabbed the zip slider first and flew across the chasm. Even pregnant, the girl made the task look graceful and easy.

  Sam sent the slider back and everyone insisted Jean go next and I follow. Even under the most normal, relaxed states, flying over a multi-story building without any means of safety net would not be something on any bucket list I would ever dream up. But add into the mix the screaming, moaning, and wailing of an army of zombies and the difficulty was multiplied by a factor of impossible proportions.

  When I grabbed the slider, my hands and arms were violently shaking. Fear pulsed out of me, radiated like severe sunburn. Everyone could see the doubt registering in my limbs and sweat.

  “Just breathe.” Sellers helped ease my tension by placing her hands on my shoulders. “Breathe in deep, exhale it all out, take in another deep breath, and take off running.”

  As soon as the woman finished her simplified instructions, I could feel the tension ease away – slightly, but enough to allow me to take off running towards the big nothing between the buildings. When my feet hit the edge of the roof I pulled up my legs and everything seemed to disappear… not just the roof from below my feet, even the tension and fear were somehow lost in the empty space below me. For just the briefest of moments I was a little girl again, being pushed on a swing by my father. Every time we’d swing I was promised I’d be sent flipping across that place no one dared cross and I would be the first kid in the neighborhood to go all the way ‘round.