Zombie Slaver (Zombie Botnet Book 4)

by Al K. Line

  Contents

  Title Page

  The Return

  Eat Godammit

  Candyfloss

  Zombie Funfair

  Al vs Clowns

  Time to Leave

  Time to Mingle

  Fucking Pikies

  Swim Fishy Swim

  How Much for the Zombie Mate?

  You Rang?

  Oopsie

  Story Time

  Fight, fight, fight.

  This Gal Ain't for Sale

  Surprise

  I Have a Cunning Plan

  Kinda Busy Innit?

  Ten... Nine... Eight...

  Pedal to the Metal

  Here There be Lions

  Recovery

  Will You be My Girlfriend?

  What, Live With Other People?

  Bit 'Mad Max-like' Innit

  Toodles

  A Little Peeved

  Scuba Gear!

  Just Drive

  A Battle for Supremacy

  Where to Batman?

  Too Much 'How's Your Father'

  Epilogue: Hasn't He Grown?

  Zombie Slaver

  (Zombie Botnet — Book 4)

  Al K. Line

  Copyright © 2014 Al K. Line

  Visit www.zombiebotnet.com to claim the free lost story: Al vs Zombies

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The Return

  In an until recently well maintained semi-detached house in the English suburbs sat a slender, verging on scrawny, man. He was all muscle, sinew and thick coiled veins. They pulsed across his taught, pale skin. His body was stripped bare of excess flesh, burned away by a metabolism that had to run rapidly to try to keep up with the energy consumed by his ever expanding consciousness.

  Neurological pathways had reconfigured. His brain worked differently to how it once had — it took a lot of energy for it to delve as deeply as it did into dark, ever expanding systems that had only recently been given birth to. In fact he was the first being in the United Kingdom to consciously enter, and begin to control, the newly awoken hivemind.

  It meant he ate a lot, and he liked his meals fresh; preferably alive and kicking if possible.

  The chair the man sat in was well worn but deeply padded. The meal delectable, the drink young yet fruity — all the better for the nice decanter the sweet nectar had slowly weeped into.

  Alfred, the ex-postman, was rather content at the moment.

  Three zombies stood in corners of the room, motionless yet totally alert. Staring at the feasting with unfettered jealousy, they were unmoving. Controlled by the leader of the hivemind.

  The Alpha Zombie.

  The unique result of a partial infection of the zombie botnet — a fog of whiskey over the device that infected him via a cracked screen, and a partial viewing — had meant Alfred was one of just a small percentage in the world that was not only consciously aware of the fact he was infected, but was able to still function in a manner that resembled a human being. If he so chose.

  Over the months since the initial transformation he had lapsed countless times, losing himself for days only to return to self-awareness in foul states of disorder, covered in gore, munching on various parts of his prey. Primal instincts, newly realized, repeatedly took over and reveled in the purity of the hunt and the beating heart of the coveted prize.

  But for the most part he was able to stay in control and selectively pick and choose his meals himself. He could now function well enough to make his way in the world.

  It wasn't easy.

  His bowels were still a constant problem, staying clean a real issue. His once hacked hair was now shaved down to the bone, smooth, easier to clean, and he thought it gave him just the right kind of nightmarish look for when he confronted his soon-to-be-dinner. He delighted in the terror created, believing it to be the just desserts of a race that had thought itself so superior for too long.

  Well, things were different now: a purer race was in control. Humanity was soon to be a thing of the past. They were hiding in their homes, skulking in the sewers, trying to avoid inevitable capture and being nothing but lunch for the dominant species on the planet.

  The infected.

  Alfred was lost in thought, he came back to his senses, back to the present — to his meal — and he felt good. He scooped one last handful of soft pulped brain from the bowl that was a very attractive young woman's skull, savoring the sticky delight as it slid down his gullet, dulling the ever present hunger for a moment, allowing him some clarity.

  He reclined with a sigh, pulling a lever on the side of the chair, kicking up his feet as it moved to a more comfortable position. He let the borrowed fluffy slippers tumble off his calloused toes to the garishly patterned carpet, well worn around the much used chair.

  "Knock yourselves out dudes," sighed Alfred with an expansive wave, as the signals pulsing through the hivemind allowed the three patient zombies to take their turn to feast.

  In an instant they were upon the recently deceased girl, ripping flesh from her face, scooping out the last of the brains, popping eyeballs juicily into their mouths between teeth green with fetid plaque and tartar.

  The breasts were scraped at with cracked dirty fingernails, ripped from her ribcage once purchase was made under the skin.

  A fast prod with a finger gave entry to her belly, an unexpected delight waiting for the lucky zombie to get a hand in first. It withdrew a fist, clenched tight around a tiny fetus, then sucked it down noisily, nothing but a mouthful of flesh and pliable, as yet unformed, bone. A long wiggly strand, the umbilical cord, trailed from the zombie's mouth back into the woman, until it sucked and delved back in to scoop out a placenta just stopped beating. They fought each other for the tasty jelly, the victor gurgling noisily as it tried to force the whole thing down in one giant swallow.

  Other hands gained entry, grabbing organs, intestines, lungs and heart. Ripping them out ferociously, stuffing their faces as fast as possible, trying to satisfy the never ending hunger that drove them onward, dictated their every action.

  Yet Alfred could control them — for the most part. As long as he stayed conscious he had a hold over them, he was their pack leader.

  More. He was The Pack Leader.

  The Saviour.

  Alpha Zombie.

  Man resurrected in a purer way, there to control and help the newly born innocents find their way in a brand new world.

  So he helped them hunt and feed when he could, traveling around the United Kingdom on foot, spreading the word of the Alpha Zombie. Spreading knowledge of the hivemind and awakening something in the infected that had been bubbling away beneath the surface since the second they were infected.

  Alfred sighed and rested his hands contentedly on his hugely expanded belly, the skin stretched taught. Baby smooth.

  The self-titled Alpha Zombie had spent months now coming to terms with what he was, and he had been a busy zombie. But there had been countless obstacles to overcome. Motor functions were working, they just took on a life of their own now and then. Neuropeptide Y still coursed through his body at dramatically high doses, so the hunger for human flesh was still an overriding factor. His body would spasm uncontrollably at times, cravings overtaking him, taking all his will to st
ay conscious and in control.

  It meant that driving was an impossibility. He had tried it twice, both times losing co-ordination, blacking out then ending up in a ditch, but still alive. Actually, if he thought about it, it wasn't alive, it was something different. He knew he had died. Returned to be a Saviour. So what was he? Undead? Not quite, but he had died and come back. Resurrected was a better choice of word to describe what he was.

  A blasphemous resurrection, raging and screaming against all that was supposedly holy. The very concept that man, what he used to be, was worth a damn, worth saving, made him sick to his stomach.

  Ever since his true awakening occurred, while he stood waiting for an elevator in a building many months past, he had thought long and hard about the thing he had become, and his true calling. He was now positive the choice he had made was the right one.

  Infection or not, he was firmly convinced that being a zombie was purer and certainly more without sin than being human. So why shouldn't he and his kind inherit the earth?

  He was going to do his best to make damn sure that was exactly what would happened.

  So he had roamed.

  Coming into contact with the infected. His brothers and sisters. Joining them to the hivemind, not yet awakened within them all. The more he encountered the more were awakened to its presence, finally joined with him and the others, and so it spread, each zombie having the ability to connect with the next that they met, an ever expanding web, just like the one that had led to their initial infection.

  The botnet had once again gone above and beyond what it had ever been designed to do. Even when manipulated by a sick old man to get his vile revenge on a world he hated with a deep bitterness and contempt that was unforgiving. Hivemind, a collective term for the actions of groups of Online social media groups, had expanded out into the infected, and if awakened to its true potential then they were more than mere individuals, they could function as a whole, be led, and be very, very dangerous.

  So Alfred's feet were somewhat sore. He had traveled extensively these last few months, and the more he traveled the less he liked what he saw. People, the ones uninfected, were grouping together and trying to overcome his brothers and sisters. Worse, some were actually abusing them, using the innocent newly born species to try to help rebuild what they lost through their own fault.

  Well, Alfred would see about that. No fucking way were the most dangerous species on the planet getting their rule back. It was his turn now, him and his kind. No room for the losers, apart from as food.

  Goodbye humans, hello zombie collective.

  It would just take a bit more spreading of the word is all, but there was plenty of time. As far as Alfred could tell, if he kept on eating he could live forever. It certainly felt like that anyway. His body no longer functioned as it once did, chemical cocktails were doing weird shit inside. He felt like he was getting younger not older. Maybe this is what it felt like to be immortal?

  Once you accept your true calling, accept your place as leader, and accept that you are at the top of the food chain then maybe you really would live for many hundreds of years. It took some coming to terms with, but at least it meant he was in no hurry. He could enjoy himself along the way.

  He took another sip of his drink. Sighing with deep pleasure.

  The young ones really did taste the best. There was something sweet about it, almost fruity, like a potential future compressed into liquid form. Maybe that is just what youth tasted like.

  Strawberries.

  And he had been missing out on it all these years. What a waste.

  It definitely beat delivering people's mail, that was for sure.

  He took another sip, a dribble of the dead girl's blood ran down his chin. He licked it with a black and now slimline tongue — the swelling had gone down weeks ago. He could pass for human if he was so inclined. Of late he found it a revolting thought though, better to embrace who he really was and revel in the primal self.

  Life was good.

  Un-life was even better.

  Eat Godammit

  Ven's head was spinning.

  She shut down the laptop with a click of her mouse, and admitted if not defeat, then at least a fatalistic resignation — there was nothing more she could do.

  Leaning back in the chair, arching her creaking back, stretching her arms overhead, she morphed back into the present after what felt like a lifetime of frustration and sheer, overwhelming, soul-crushing despair. It had been some ride, one never to be repeated. If the Web had been a somewhat bizarre place before the botnet infection took hold, it was now nothing but a quagmire of either incomprehensibility or downright terror and abject despair.

  Kyle stood there, Bos Bos sat next to him, tail wagging. Tomas was in Kyle's arms, beaming down angelically at his mum. The mum he had missed greatly over the past few weeks. Ven came out of her techno-coma to a world that maybe wasn't so bad after all.

  There was no longer any doubt about it — the world was royally fucked and there was nothing she could do about it.

  And the Internet?

  Dead and buried from now on as far as she was concerned. For those without her technical knowledge it was practically a foregone conclusion that if you went Online you would be infected. There was no way out of that inevitability apart from to start the whole thing over from scratch, not that it was possible, and destroy every device in the world that had ever connected to the Web after the botnet went live. Even if a brand new Internet were created, just one device that was infected then connected up would see the whole process starting up once more.

  A few hours later the world would be just as foul a place as it currently was.

  But she had tried, and failed epically. The only consolation being she now truly understood that what happened was not her fault directly, finally knowing that she had given it her best shot to rectify the situation. Never mind that she had completely and utterly floundered in that regard, it showed she cared, at least. Until the last few weeks even she hadn't realized quite how much she did care about other people in this sorry excuse for what was once called civilization.

  Ven was a gaunt shadow of her former self.

  Her once firm and shapely body had slowly eaten away at itself for sustenance — if she wasn't going to eat regularly then it had little choice but to burn muscle and fat reserves to keep itself alive.

  It had begun exactly 14 days, 13 hours and 7 minutes ago.

  Ven didn't notice, she was so consumed with her quest that for the first time in her life she had neglected not only herself but her immediate environment too. Which was unheard of and totally out of character. If she was in her right mind she would have recoiled in abject horror at the cup rings on the desk, the cold coffee mugs with mold beginning to grow around the edges, the uneaten sandwiches that Boscoe was unable to reach — which were driving him slowly mad with their cheesy teasing.

  Ven's hair was a mess: unbrushed, unwashed and unkempt. No make-up, no thought to what she was wearing. If it hadn't been for Kyle and Al then the regretful truth was that little baby Tomas may well have been in a similar state of neglect.

  The room was well lit, Kyle had changed a light bulb to make it brighter and brought in an extra lamp, as Ven was constantly squinting, scrunched up close to the monitor, incessantly tapping the keyboard, clicking the mouse. Power was a problem on occasion. The one time he had let the generator run out of diesel and the Internet connection went down Ven flew into such a rage that Kyle genuinely feared for his own safety and worried that Ven would drop down dead from a heart attack — so he kept it topped up from then on when the sun wasn't shining and the solar panels weren't providing power.

  The room was stark, as Ven had set it up at the beginning of this epic quest to find out once and for all just exactly how the zombie botnet did what it did. Igniting armageddon is a heavy cross to bear. The guilt of being the instigator of it all had gnawed away at Ven over the days, weeks and months since it had been unleashed, unt
il it was all she could think about. It consumed her dreams, turning them into terrifying nightmares, as well as her waking hours.

  So they searched and searched, driving Basil bus around the navigable parts of the United Kingdom, until they found a place that not only had a live signal to connect to the Web, but somewhere safe enough for them to hole up in while Ven tried to get to uncover exactly what had gone so devastatingly wrong.

  The room contained a battered old oak table, an extremely comfortable office chair, a keyboard, monitor and tower, her laptop for the majority of her work, thick curtains at the window, a sheepskin rug for Bos Bos for when he wanted to stay with Ven, and a sleeping bag with two pillows along with a bag of clothes and a make-up case. The make-up had not been touched since the second day, her clothes had been changed exactly twice, and it was Kyle or Al that opened and closed the curtains every day.

  Ven slept little, crawling into the sleeping bag now and then, but mostly simply falling asleep in her chair when exhaustion overtook her, carrying on with her quest the second she awoke. The only time she left the room was for an occasional call of nature, and she often forgot for such extended periods of time that she found herself amazed and confounded at how desperately she needed the bathroom when she came out of her Internet stupor.

  It was a dangerous game that she was playing. One that was not only wreaking havoc on her own body and mind, but was also causing serious disruption within their small, and already dysfunctional, family unit.

  The sooner it was all over the better.

  The building was small, an out of town center for a small research company that relied on fast and professional work. Thus a speedy Web connection and a lot of very clever people. When they happened across it they found that the Web connection was still live, backup generators and a roof of solar panels gave plenty of power, and although the data centers were now somewhat limited, so not the whole Internet-that-was remained actually available, there was enough to allow Ven to tentatively begin to uncover the truth behind what had happened after her viral programming went so outrageously awry.