by Jack Wallen
That hypnosis was quickly broken when another roar filled the heated air. This was never going to end. Actually I was afraid it was going to end, and not end well. We were severely outnumbered and would soon run out of ammunition.
“Sam!” Sellers’s voice yanked me from my thoughts. When I turned Sam was being pulled through his window. Sellers was doing her best to pull the man back into safety.
“Danielle, help me!”
I rushed to Courtney’s side and began tugging Sam’s legs, hoping to get the man back inside. I knew he’d been inoculated, so there was no fear of infection.
“Come on, Sam! Get your ass back inside,” Sellers screamed.
We simultaneously gave one final hard tug. The ripping and cracking sound should have warned us what was about to happen. But nothing can really prepare you for falling to the ground with a blood-soaked, lower torso on top of you.
Sam had been torn in two. Our leader was lost. I held my shaking hands up to see them painted red with Sam’s blood. My mouth opened to release a scream but nothing came out. Tears raced down my cheeks.
We failed. There was no way Sellers and I could hold off the remaining walking dead army. If we were lucky we had already taken down, maybe fifty? There were still thousands of the monsters. I knew for certain we hadn’t seen the last of the lab rats.
The only thing I could hope for was that the beasts wouldn’t find Bethany. In that moment, I wanted to believe in God so I could pray to keep the mother and the child safe. My life was already gone – it was gone the moment this war began. But Bethany and Jacob had another war to fight and that war would determine the final outcome of mankind.
They had to live.
I stood to go back to the window. I didn’t even take the time to check on Sellers – it was an easy assumption to make that she was already preparing for the next wave. But when I turned to look her way, I was too late – she had the pistol pointed right at her temple.
“I can’t be one of them.” Sellers’s words cut through her sobs. “It’s all so pointless now. I’m sorry, Danielle. I’m so sorry.”
And with that, Courtney pulled the trigger and sprayed her brains across the room.
Something inside of me locked up. Emotion? Sympathy? I wasn’t sure, but at that very second, my blood ran cold. I knew that, on some level, Courtney was right. But even though her and my existence no longer had any effect on the bigger picture, I knew it wasn’t pointless. Above me, up in the attic, was a mother and child that could bring salvation to the planet. It wouldn’t happen today and it wouldn’t happen tomorrow – but someday the second coming of Jacob Plummer would follow in the heroic footsteps of his mother and father. Only instead of saving a small, rag-tag group, he would save the world.
My waxing prose only served to give the undead more time to arrive at the scene. Without thinking I picked up a grenade, unpinned it, and lobbed it out the window. When it released its special flavor of hate seven Moaners and a Screamer went up in flames.
Those bombs were going to be my only hope at some miraculous last stand. I had a sum total of twelve hellfires.
Twelve.
How in the world would I possibly take down a thousand zombies with twelve grenades? And more importantly, how could I ensure Bethany and Jacob’s survival with said thousand-plus zombies coming into ground zero for the kill?
The idea hit me like a bag of hammers.
The best, bravest act I could commit would be to draw the undead away from the house. I could rig the twelve grenades to my body, along with the means to pull all twelve pins at once … it was such a simple feat of engineering, even a first year student could accomplish the task.
After gathering all the necessary pieces and parts, I began cobbling together my Zombie Suicide Bomber Vest. During the creation of my endgame device, I had to pause, now and then, to aim a machine gun out the window at an oncoming group of the undead. That pattern went on for a good ten minutes… until my device was complete.
Emotion overcame me when I donned the vest. I was about to take my own life. That, oddly enough, was not the true source of my pain. The reason for my weeping was guilt. I had been instrumental in creating the circumstances leading up to my final act.
That guilt threatened to pull me down to the floor of the house. I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and beg the universe for forgiveness. None would come. My acts, to this point, were not of the forgivable type. Yes, I managed to help get Bethany to safety, but up to that moment I might as well have been nothing more than a prostitute in one of Hell’s finest brothels.
What really sickened me was that, at some point, my pimp was directly connected to the corrupt government. Pimps? Prostitutes? Who had I become? At one point my life was filled with the finest thinking academia could offer. My research filled lecture halls, text books, and was the stuff of legend. Now? I was a suicide bomber about to take down a large number of the undead.
Yay, me.
And to what God should I pray? What exactly could faith bring me now? Faith had done little to help me through the reality I helped to bastardize. But even with an epic pessimism to guide me into whatever afterlife there may be, I had to hold some faith that Bethany and her child would bring this cataclysmic disaster to an end.
Strangely enough, out of nowhere, a prayer came to mind.
“Our Father, are you still in heaven? How we’ve forgotten your name. Give us tomorrow, another chance and lead us not into damnation. Forgive me my sins and my sins against your creation. For thine is the kingdom, safe haven, refuge… from the beasts, forever. Amen.”
When I stood, the grenades clanked against one another. Although I should have been shaking with fear, trembling with loss and sorrow, I was at peace. My next act was the most selfless act I would ever commit. I did this not for posthumous glory or accolades, but to give our species a second chance. If I was correct, Bethany and Jacob would survive, and Jacob would eventually grow up to realize his true purpose. If I was wrong, well, I’d be dead and it wouldn’t really matter.
I was stalling… I knew that.
The roar and moan of the undead masses drew nearer to me. My one and only chance for true redemption was now.
Save us all.
Epilogue
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio – your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That’s right dear listeners. It’s back and it’s pissed. Of course, by ‘it’ I mean me, and by ‘pissed’ I mean ‘vengeance is a dish best served cold’. Let the undertones of that phrase, translated from the original Klingon, sink in.
Revenge… is… a… dish… best… served… cold.
Of course, the phrase has bit more sting to it when you know who’s speaking. My name is Bethany Nitshimi and I am your new guide through the apocalypse. It is my duty to hold your metaphorical hand as we walk through this valley of the shadows of darkness and hope like Hell salvation is waiting on the other side. That is, of course, if there is an ‘other side.’ Who really knows? There may only be more of this shit and viscera to drag our weary feet through. It is truly Hell out there, and that Hell is brought to you by none other than The Zero Day Collective. Oh yes, I know thirty-one flavors of truth my friends, and it is my goal to reveal to you each and every one.
I do have another goal. Before I announce that goal, I want to make damn sure the people are listening. Hello? ZDC? Are you there? Don’t lie; I know you’re there, you’ve always been there. Like a rat in a dark corner, you sit and wait for the stillness of midnight to arrive so you can crawl out and infect us all with your disease. That all ends here and now. With nothing more than the power of my voice I will raise an army of what remains of humanity and we will defeat you. Your legions of the damned will be powerless against soldiers they cannot infect.
I want every member of The Collective to memorize the sound of my voice, because it will be the very last sound you hear as I put an end to your vile existence.
And now, my children, survivors al
l; it is time for us to gather, to seek out one another so that we can begin to rebuild our numbers and strength. There is a mighty war to be fought against a corrupt machine that will do everything in its power to rid the world of what they deem unworthy.
But they cannot control us. They cannot and will not be our masters. The machines of hatred will be dismantled. Hear me, believe me, follow me. I hold the truth and that truth will save us all. This world will be ours again!
Muse… sing us a song of resistance. Help the weakened hearts beat strong again.
Can you hear me? Raise your fists in the air and shout at the top of your lungs “They will not control us! They will not forsake us!”
You are listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio… and this revolution, dedicated to the memory of Jacob Plummer, will be televised!
About the Author
Jack Wallen is a seeker of truth and a writer of words. Although he resides in the unlikely city of Louisville, Kentucky, he likes to think of himself more as an interplanetary soul … or so he tells the reflection in the mirror. He’s also the author of:
I Zombie I
My Zombie My
Die Zombie Die
Lie Zombie Lie
Zombie Radio
T-Minus Zero
The Last Casket
Hell’s Muse
Screampark
Shero
Shero II: Zombie A GoGo
A Blade Away
Gothica
Endgame
If you want to receive an automatic email when Jack’s next book is released, signup here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
For any author to succeed, word of mouth is crucial. If you enjoyed Die Zombie Die, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, even if it’s only a line or two; it would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated.
Contact Jack!
To get more information about Jack, stop by his website, Get Jack’d, and learn more. You can also send Jack an email to [email protected].
