by Paul Seiple
"When did you establish this compound?" Mitch asked.
"About a year and a half ago," Wayne said.
"Were people here before you?"
"A few. I took them in," Wayne said.
"How did you get these strangers to view you as their leader?"
"I spoke to them. They were lost. I gave them hope to carry on," Wayne said.
"And yet, you robbed hope from those who were not part of your group?"
"We are... were a congregation. My main obligation was to keep my people safe. If that meant eliminating a threat, that's just how things work today. A stranger is an enemy. Didn't you just say that?"
Mitch smiled. "I did. That's the sign of a good leader."
"I understand why you had to kill my people," Wayne said.
Mitch laughed. "I didn't kill them. Immunity is valuable to my vision of the future. The gunfire was to instill fear. Finding twenty people in the same place, not infected, is like winning the lottery. Although I would have loved to have your guards, especially the big one. Unfortunately, war brings casualties."
"He would have never served you, but I can get the others to fight for you," Wayne said.
"I have an army that fights for me. I need them for experiments," Mitch said.
"What kind of experiments?"
"I need a cure," Mitch said.
"But they are not infected."
"That's the problem. Do you have any idea how strong the virus would be if I could infect those who are immune?"
"I'm not following," Wayne said.
"A group of people got together years before the outbreak with intentions of creating the ultimate weapon. The original idea was to produce a war deterrent, but it evolved into something that would give ultimate power to the person possessing it. The weapon was a bomb, smaller than a bullet, with pinpoint accuracy. It needed something to eradicate, so Judas was created. The bomb was named The Judas Kiss due to its ability to wipe out the virus. The virus was to be just a simple, yet deadly, but easy to control disease. We underestimated Judas's instinct to survive. The bomb became secondary. Judas is the ultimate weapon. It doesn't use technology to evolve. It uses an undying will to live," Mitch said.
"You created the virus?" Wayne asked.
"I was part of a team that created Judas. The majority of that team is no longer here. But the ones who are fortunate enough to watch Judas evolve understand the importance of controlling it. Controlling Judas means controlling the world," Mitch said.
"There's nothing left of the world," Wayne said.
"You're mistaken, Wayne. We are being given a clean slate. Judas wiped out everything wrong with the world. It's ours to make pure again. With the help of Judas, of course."
"What do the immune have to do with it?" Wayne asked.
A grin flashed across Mitch's face. "Mixing infection with immunity would be the ultimate evolution. If we can infect those immune, it will make Judas stronger. Before the outbreak, everyone was worried about a robot war. The infected are cheaper and easier to control."
Wayne slid his chair back against the wall.
"You never thought about that, did you?" Mitch asked.
"The infected make the best soldiers. There are no casualties. They are already dead," Wayne said.
"Now you're catching on," Mitch said.
"Why are you telling me this?" Wayne asked.
"Most of the people I encounter these days are shells of what humanity was before Judas. You are rare. You lead. You're rough around the edges, but I see the potential in you," Mitch said.
"Can you control the infected?" Wayne asked.
"It's rudimentary, but there is promise. Most of the infected have been sick long enough to suffer irreversible damage to their physiology. It makes them vulnerable. I've spent the last two years studying the infected. Do you know how hard it is to find a healthy dead person?" Mitch asked.
"How do you do it?" Wayne asked.
"I won't bore you with the science, but Judas needs a specific protein to survive. As luck would have it, it's a protein found in the outer layer of human skin. Judas is so evasive, it destroys internal organs. When they stop working, skin decays. Judas has yet to find an evolution that reverses rotten flesh. I have the ability to give the virus what it needs to survive long term. In return, Judas is going to work for me. I provide keratin, and the infected become my soldiers. The rest of the world is trying to cure the disease. I will control it.”
"That's demented. Brilliant. But demented," Wayne said.
"On paper. But most of the infected are too far gone to salvage. The keratin keeps them active and at my beck and call, but they are no stronger than they were before the injection."
"You're hoping to find a way to infect the immune to create strong zombies?" Wayne asked.
"A strong army," Mitch said. "Tell me about this woman. Why is she important to you?"
"She murdered my brother when people started to turn," Wayne said.
"Was he infected?"
"He was immune, like me."
"And you want revenge?" Mitch asked.
"I did. Now I want to keep her alive."
Mitch smiled. "Well, Wayne, it seems we both have strong objectives."
"Who the hell are they?" Steven asked, pushing the brush from his view. "Government?"
Five soldiers, dressed head-to-toe in black carrying AR-15s, herded about ten of the infected into a tight circle.
"Why are the JVs not trying to attack them?" Sarah asked.
One of the soldiers drew on the ground with what looked like a can of spray paint around the infected. The soldiers stepped back. A few of the infected moved toward the soldiers, only to be shocked when they stepped on the line. The dead fell back and repeated the motion over and over again. The soldiers laughed.
"Who would have thought we would have technology like this at the end of the world?"
"It does contain them. I thought we were going to have to shoot them."
"You sound disappointed, Alvarez."
"Maybe a little."
Sarah pulled Steven away from the brush.
"They cannot find us," Sarah said.
Before Steven could respond, more soldiers came into view, leading what appeared to be about a dozen humans.
"That's a haul, right there. I bet Mitch is happy. Think this will work on them?" The soldier held up the spray can.
"It doesn't work on the living."
"We need to get back now and warn the others," Sarah said. "We have no chance against these assholes if they find Winston."
Twenty-Six
"How's your shoulder?" Melanie asked.
"It's a through and through. I should be fine," Alan said.
"You're immune, right?" Melanie asked. "I should have asked that earlier, but it kinda slipped my mind with all that was going on."
Alan laughed. Pain shot down his right arm. He clutched his shoulder. "Yeah, but I am hungry. Please tell me you have steak at your compound."
"Well... no... but I could probably find a can of chili. You can imagine it's steak once you get over the metallic taste from the can. I sometimes think it's crab legs."
Alan shot a confused glance.
"Yeah, maybe you'll have better luck thinking it's steak," Melanie said.
"I'll just be grateful for protein. Tree bark isn't cutting it," Alan said.
A clanging sound just ahead of them cut the food talk short. Melanie pulled Alan behind a tree. A man dressed in a blue jumpsuit staggered along a path. A chain attached to both of his ankles rattled with every step. His hands were handcuffed behind his back.
"Is he infected?" Melanie asked.
"Hard to tell with the shackles. If so, he hasn't been long without feeding," Alan said.
"We should let him pass," Melanie said.
The sound of metal dragging the rough terrain multiplied. Two more men dressed in blue jumpsuits stumbled out from the woods.
"Is there a prison nearby?" Alan asked.
"No."
"Where is the closest one?" Alan asked.
"I don't know... maybe Perry," Melanie said. "But that's a few hours away."
"They didn't walk here. And, if they are infected, there is no way they just turned, but they look as healthy as you and... well, as you," Alan said.
“The virus has definitely mutated again," Melanie said.
"Maybe, but Judas didn't drive them here."
"Hey, over here."
The female voice drew their attention away from the prisoners. A woman with short brown hair wearing a red flannel shirt and blue jeans stepped out from the woods behind the men. She walked slowly with purpose toward them. Once the prisoners started toward her, her walk turned into a jog. She struck the closest man in the forehead with a hatchet. Two more women appeared behind the prisoners. One, a tall blonde, hit a prisoner with a shovel. He fell forward, and the woman with short brown hair planted the hatchet into the back of his head. The third woman nearly decapitated the last prisoner with the swing of a baseball bat.
"The men are so easy," the brown-haired woman said, retrieving the hatchet.
The tall blonde stepped over some brush and disappeared into the woods.
"Be careful, Tabby. There may be more of them."
"They're going to find us," Alan said.
Melanie flashed a smile and stepped out into the open.
"What are you doing?" Alan asked.
"Way to keep your eye on the ball, Meg," Melanie said.
"Holy shit, Melanie," Meg said.
"We've been looking everywhere for you." The brown-haired woman sprinted toward Melanie and hugged her.
"Well, you found me," Melanie said.
Alan stood up and stepped out from behind the tree.
Meg raised the bat and took aim at Alan. The brown-haired woman brandished the hatchet.
"Whoa. He's with me," Melanie said. "Meg, Tabby, Denise, this is Alan. Alan, this is my crew." Melanie laughed.
Denise slid the hatchet into a leather sheath. She smeared blood on her jeans before extending her hand to Alan. "I'm Denise."
"Alan."
Tabby eyed the blood seeping through Alan's shirt. "Are you bitten?"
"Shot," Alan said.
"Nice," Tabby said.
Alan laughed.
"Where were you? James said you were kidnapped," Denise said.
"Some psychopath who calls himself Maestro took me," Melanie said.
"James said they took Roger too," Meg said.
"They did," Melanie said.
"Where is he?" Meg asked.
"He didn't make it," Melanie said. "If it wasn't for Alan, I don't think I would have either."
"James went looking for you," Denise said.
Melanie caught the hesitation in Denise's tone. "Is James OK?"
"He broke his ankle, but he is back at Winston resting," Denise said. "Mac and Brent went too. They didn't make it. And it's not looking good for Oli. He was stabbed."
"Did they run into those psychos that took me?" Melanie asked.
"No, Brent accidentally stabbed Oli when they were fighting off a group of the dead," Denise said.
"We need to get back," Tabby said. "Is he coming with us?" She pointed at Alan.
"Yeah," Melanie said.
"I hope you can keep up," Tabby said.
"I'll try my best," Alan said.
"This way," Meg said, stepping over one of the fallen bodies. "We found a quicker way back while searching for you."
Alan felt his weight press on him as he moved forward. It was the first time he was thankful for weighing only one thirty. The pain in his shoulder was small in comparison to the hunger. He knew his muscles were atrophying. Just a few years ago, he could run a 5k marathon without a slight curse from his muscles. Now each step was a chore. Alan decided to walk around the body instead of stepping over it. He glanced at the man who looked to be in his early thirties. The blue prison jumpsuit barely held a stain other than a few flecks of blood on the collar from Denise's hatchet blow. Alan froze after seeing the outline of an owl stitched on the right side of the jumpsuit.
Melanie was a few feet ahead of Alan. She stopped and turned. "You OK back there? Do you need help?"
"Were there any more like these?" Alan pointed to the man.
"I'm sure there more of them, but we only saw the four. Why?" Denise asked.
Alan bent to one knee to examine the body.
"What's wrong?" Melanie asked.
"These men weren't typical prisoners. See this..." Alan traced the owl. "It's from the organization that created the virus."
"ARMA?" Melanie asked.
"No. ARMA produced the virus. It didn't create it," Alan said.
"Who are you?" Melanie asked. "How do you know about ARMA?"
Meg drew the bat back. Denise unsheathed the hatchet. Tabby pointed the shovel at Alan.
"Before this, I was the Deputy Director of the FBI," Alan said.
"That did not answer my question," Melanie said. "Were you following me? Is that how you knew those assholes kidnapped me?"
"No. I heard your scream from the woods. I'd been watching that place for a few days," Alan said.
"OK, and how do you know about ARMA?" Melanie asked.
"I was part of the secret organization within ARMA," Alan said.
"So you created Judas?" Melanie asked.
"I didn't stop it from happening. Once I figured out the true reason for the virus, it was too late to stop it. I was held captive like these men. The only difference was I'm immune. How did he keep them from decaying in the slightest?"
"Who?" Melanie asked.
"We really need to get back. It will be dark soon. We don't need to be out here then," Meg said.
Melanie waved at Meg. "One minute. Who are you talking about, Alan?"
"Mitchell Ashe. He created Judas," Alan said.
"And you think he released these people here?" Melanie asked.
"I don't know. It's been over two years since I saw him." Alan stood, not without noticeable pain. "I'll leave." He started to walk away.
"Wait. You won't make it a day in your condition. You saved me. I owe you one," Melanie said.
"We can't bring him back," Tabby said. "What if this Mitchell guy is looking for him?"
"We’ll figure it out. But if it wasn't for Alan, going home wouldn't be an option for me. I'm going to help him. I couldn't help Roger. I can help Alan."
Twenty-Seven
"Think they will find her?" The woman's shoes clanked against the tin sign used as a makeshift floor for the watchtower. She paused and surveyed to her left with binoculars.
"I hope so, Cindy. It's scary enough to know the dead are out there, but to think the living are hurting each other is a nightmare.”
"Why would that change just because we have zombies now? People have always been evil to each other," Cindy said.
"I know, but there's not many of us left. I hoped we would work together to save each other."
"That naïve thinking will get you killed, Alison."
"There really is no hope for us," Alison said.
"You're breathing fresh air and you're not trying to eat me. That's hope," Cindy said.
The sound of a sputtering engine sent the women into alarm mode. Cindy spotted headlights, and then a pickup truck came into view.
"Give me the rifle," Cindy said.
The smell of exhaust filled the cab of the truck. It had been this way since the station wagon died about 100 miles ago. Nick coughed. Daria cleared her throat. Q ignored the drama and kept driving.
"This cannot be healthy for us, right?" Daria asked.
"There's a virus that killed everyone not immune and turned them into zombies who want you for dinner. I'd say a little exhaust isn't going to kill you," Q said. "I'm afraid this beater isn't going to get us much farther. Are we close, Nick?"
"Well, GPS isn't working, which kinda pisses me off." Nick tapped Daria's phone, knowing it was futile. "I thought
I had that set to work even through a nuclear war. But based on my notes, and James's directions, I'd say we are close."
A fence made of old gasoline signs came into view. A bang that sounded like the truck backfiring startled them. It was followed by another. The front tire on the driver's side exploded. The steering wheel jerked. Daria slammed into Nick.
"What the hell, Q?" Daria asked.
Another bang. The windshield shattered just above Nick's head. Glass rained down on them. Q slammed the brakes.
"Get down. Someone is shooting at us," Q said.
The three of them dove to the floorboard. The truck continued to move. Q reached for the gearshift as another bullet pierced the seat behind him. He jerked the truck into park.
"Did you not tell them we were coming?" Daria asked.
"Well, I didn't have the chance to mention that we would be in Sanford and Son's truck," Nick said.
"Who?" Daria asked.
"Now is not the time," Q said.
A bullet came through the driver's door.
"Try to call James, Nick," Q said.
"The phone is not going to magically start working now that we are being shot at. This isn't the movies, Q," Nick said.
There was a moment of silence. A deep voice broke through. "Do you have weapons?"
"No," Daria said.
"Don't lie," Nick whispered.
"We have two pistols. We mean no harm," Q said.
"Toss them out of the truck."
"Do it," Q said.
Nick flung the pistols through the opening that used to be the windshield.
"That's all we have," Q said.
"How many of you are there?"
"Three," Q said.
"Step out from the driver's side, one at a time."
Q eased out the truck with his hands above his head. A man, nearly seven-foot-tall with long hair and a matching beard, aimed the barrel of a shotgun at Q's chest. He was alone, but there was a group closing in.
"Next one."
Daria stepped out.
"Hands above your head like your friend."
Daria looked at Q. He tilted his head and said, “Just do it."
"Last one, get out," the bearded man said.
