by Jack Wallen
That was that. Functionality won out over form and we had a plan. We would land the plane, make our way to a neighboring building, zip line across the chasm between the towers, Dunham would then break into the building, extract a member of the ZDC, and we would get the information we needed to move ahead.
Although simple in design, there was obvious danger in the execution. A single misstep and we’re caught. We get caught and the world will eventually perish.
God that’s depressing. I need a break.
“Conspiracy. That is the word of the day. And just what does that word mean to you? Let’s take some callers. How about you? Chad from Chicago, what’s your take on the conspiracy?”
“What’s my take? I’ll tell you what my take is…I think this was nothing more than a way to make sure the Cubbies never win the World Series. This whole fuckin’ mess was probably paid for by the Yankees. I swear –”
“Yeah, Chad, as much as I want to – oh who am I kidding? You’re fucking nuts! If you think this catastrophe had anything to do with baseball, in any way, the only conspiracy you should concerned with is your brain conspiring to make you look like an absolute idiot! Baseball – fuck me. Let’s try another caller. Trish, from Boston, you bring up the Sox or the Yankees and I will hang up.”
“Sorry, I can’t relate to the baseball theory. I do have a more rational conspiracy, if that’s even possible.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Nature.”
“I don’t follow, Trish.”
“We’ve been doing everything we can to prolong life. We buy packaged foods that have been genetically tampered with from corporations we haven’t been able to trust for generations. Our minds and our bodies have been altered, on a genetic level, by consumerism and a desperate desire to look younger, be stronger, and live longer. Is it that far of a stretch to think that nature itself is rebelling against us?”
“I like where you are going with this. Continue.”
“I didn’t mention this when you first introduced me, but I have taught bio-chemistry at Boston U for nearly a decade. I have seen this very battle going on in human DNA for some time. We force our genetics into submission and our genetics fight back. It’s a very unnatural push and pull and eventually, no matter how brilliant or tricky we are, this is not a battle we can win.”
“Are you saying we should all just roll over and give up?”
“Not at all. I am saying we should stop fighting and embrace nature.”
“Trish, I have to say you might be one of the most rational callers I’ve heard in a long time. Thank you so much for shedding that light on the subject.”
“You’re welcome. Any time.”
“That lesson in science makes me think of yet another tune by everyone’s favorite power-trio – Rush. How about a little ‘Natural Science’?”
I let the music play on. The shifting time signature of the song was enough to keep everyone’s mind focused on what they were hearing. The distraction was much needed.
“Do you think that woman is right?” Michelle asked nervously.
“No, I don’t,” I answered, punctuating my rather defiant sentence with a clap of my hands. I don’t know why I did, but it seemed to bring a bit of finality to my statement.
And I didn’t. Although there was a certain truth to what Trish had said, her theory was based on yet more ignorance. The only way she could have possibly known what was going on would be for her to have read Jacob’s journal. Based on her claim, she obviously hadn’t.
Trish’s ignorance fanned the flames of anger in my gut. I was tempted to call Zombie Radio and inform the listeners that not one of the station’s audience members had a right to wax conspiratorial until they had read every single word Jacob and I have put up for the world to see. Only then would they see this situation bathed in an altogether different light.
“We all know what’s going on. Everyone around the globe is looking for some sort of box to neatly tuck this mess into. We have to, it’s our nature. Unfortunately the one true box this tragedy belongs in is one that refuses to be closed. This will not go down easily. What we are up against will fight us until we’re dead – or undead.” I wanted to work the team up into a ballyhoo of confidence. It wasn’t working. Why can’t these things ever play out like they do in the movies? This is near the climax, where the leader of the good guys rallies the troops into one last showdown. It’s this very moment that turns the tide of war. And yet I am staring into the eyes of fear. No one among us has the confidence necessary to take down our enemy.
This could go very wrong. I needed to form a backup plan. Some fail-safe that would guarantee our work would continue should we fail.
“Jean, may I see your notes?” Since no one was following my train of thought, my question was totally non-sequitur.
“Of course,” he replied, fortunately not questioning my request. I wanted to keep my fail-safe a secret, just in case. “Here’s my notebook. It’s all in there.”
It didn’t take me long to find my target.
The vaccine. More specific, the formula for the vaccine. My plan was simple – upload the formula for the vaccine alongside the schematics for the Obliterator. By the time anyone reads this we will have either successfully taken down the Collective, or they will have eliminated us. Either way, I am going to get everything, including my last blog entries, public within seventy-two hours. I will write a script that will make everything I have, to this point, public. That will give us just enough time to either get in and out or get killed. Either way, the public must have this knowledge in their hands.
“What’s our ETA?” I yelled to Dunham, over the drone of the plane’s engine.
“Looks like around eight forty-five a.m. Give or take an hour or so, that is when we’ll land in New York. From the landing field you can count on another hour’s drive time to the building,” Dunham answered coolly.
“That is assuming our path is free and clear of danger,” Sam added.
“I don’t follow,” Jean said nervously, directing his comment to Sam.
“We’re talking New York City, my friend. The population is very compact. We could be looking at millions of zombies packed into that relatively small city. Wall-to-wall undead.” Sam’s description chilled the air, and Sam must have noticed the effect his words had on us. “I don’t mean to put everyone in a panic, I just want us all to be prepared for the reality of the situation. Zero Day Collective is not the only fight we’ll have on our hands.”
Millions of Undead Americans. God, the metaphor was so obvious. The Zombie as modern American citizen. It’s almost too easy, too overdone. Yet there it is, only the metaphor has broken free from the boundaries of American soil – a social commentary on the Westernization of the globe. Has the entire planet finally been drained of its individuality? One by one, the countries have fallen victim to the work-a-day, nine-to-five, button-down khaki army.
How long have we been destined to be drones? Think with a hive-like mind? Resistance is futile, all the way from the Stars and Stripes to the Empire of the Sun. Fuck, I’m tired and doing everything I can to prolong this dance with destiny. But why?
The answer to that question I can feel from my toes to my eyes. I’m frightened like a little girl lost in a forest thick with monsters and molesters. We have no idea what we are up against. So long as we’re fighting moaners and screamers we’re okay. But now, a new enemy is in the mix and this enemy has the capacity to think, and act, with complete malice.
ZDC wants me dead and they want the entire planet enslaved to their virus. To what end we don’t know. What we do know is that we must not let them win.
“What’s on your mind, Bethany?” Jean’s soft voice broke the self-inflicted spell I was under.
“I don’t know…just thinking about everything.” My answer betrayed the specifics of my train of thought. I really wanted to engage Jean in a deeper conversation than my tired brain would currently allow.
“I underst
and. The second this plane left the runway I’ve been considering our options, hoping to stumble upon a better way to defeat this group. Beat them at their own game.”
Jean’s last words echoed around my brain for the briefest of moments. From that dwindling echo the seed of an idea was planted. That seed rapidly took root and, in time-lapse speed, became a full-blown idea.
“Jean, you’re brilliant!” And without thought or hesitation, I kissed the man. When I pulled away Jean was as shocked as I. Fortunately there was no time to dwell on what was either a mistake or a perfect moment.
“Jean, we synthesized a vaccine, can we synthesize the virus?” I lobbed the question his way, hoping he would understand where I was going without further explanation.
“I don’t understand,” he said, momentarily dashing my hopes.
“Work with me here. Would it be possible to create a sort of zombie grenade that would, upon explosion, release the virus in a gaseous form?” I was starting to remind myself too much of an Earth-Space Science teacher I had in seventh grade. He was my first crush – Mr. Biggs, we called him. I don’t think I ever even learned his first name, but there was so much wonder in the brilliant mysteries he held in his mind.
The idea finally lit the ‘Ah ha!’ bulb over Jean’s head. “You mean infect everyone in the building with a gas-releasing grenade? Only the gas is the Mengele Virus? Is that what you mean?”
I nodded, but realized in my gut that I had just condemned a group of people to the same fate the rest of the world had suffered. I wasn’t terribly comfortable with that. But then, if I allowed my mind and my heart to go to war over the issue, my mind would most certainly win. The Zero Day Collective, after all, was the group that condemned the world to Hell. Yeah…I was okay with it.
“Along with the zombie grenade, we create a similar bomb to release the vaccine. We toss in the vaccine grenade first, followed by the zombie grenade. When we reach our target, the only thing they need to know is that the virus was released among them.”
“That’s brilliant. I already have everything I need for the vaccine bomb. All I would need, to be able to synthesize a virus is one of the damned. Those of us vaccinated from the virus can then enter the building and, and, do what?” Jean’s question was nearly comical, but honest. We were still without a definitive plan, since we had no idea who was running the show.
I looked deeply into Jean’s eyes and offered a slight smile. “It’ll all come together, Jean.”
What I wouldn’t give for this moment to be comprised of a time-shifting montage, showing images of the brainy heroine solving the final piece of the puzzle and putting into action the insanely spectacular plan. Some breathy singer-songwriter voice over a dissonant guitar would play over the scene, reminding everyone to keep the whole moment deeply rooted in an emotional connection.
My brain is working in montage mode. There had to be some six degrees of Senator Slaton that would point to the master of the Collective. Although she never claimed any ownership or direct influence over the organization, she knew of them and was aware of their plans. An organism that powerful could easily hide itself from public view, so the Senator must be somehow connected – or maybe even directly involved.
I fired up the laptop’s web browser and began a long string of searches. Starting with business connections the Senator had led me to a number of Fortune 500-type corporations that could easily have a vested interest in a little game of genocide. One of those corporations, Pacific Interest, was one of the largest power brokers in the world. And by power, I literally mean power – as in electricity. There were reports of Pacific Interest bidding for a large store of uranium ore that was found on German soil. When the German government turned down the bid, Pacific Interest lost billions of dollars in corporate funding and quickly folded, after a rather illegally expedited bankruptcy. The owner of the failed futures company moved into the weapons industry and managed to sell to nearly every country but Germany.
It seems someone had vendetta enough to commit genocide.
“I think I know our target. His name is John Burgess. We take that man out, we take out ZDC,” I said as I victoriously shut the lid on the laptop. It was a cliché move, but it felt damn good.
I explained to the crew how I arrived at the decision and, to my surprise, everyone agreed. Well, everyone but Dunham. Mr. One-time Flirtatious was all of a sudden a serious stick in the mud, refusing to say a word.
“How long will it take you to put together a grenade or two, Jean?” I said, noticing that my voice had picked up some much-needed confidence.
“Oh,” Jean said in surprise, “I can’t create a grenade. I can supply a gaseous virus that can be used for the grenade, but I do not have the necessary skills to fashion a method of delivery.”
Fortunately Sam was up to the task. And with the weaponry we had on board the plane, he could quickly cobble together the means to deliver the virus. The only killjoy among us was Dunham, who wanted to assert we were running short on time. The reality of our situation indicated quite the opposite. Time was one luxury we currently had in abundance. Zero Day Collective had no idea where we were, nor even that we were coming straight for them. In fact, they most likely assumed we were still in France, or at least our bodies were, since Sam had informed them that we were dead. So our clock was ticking away at a near standstill. And, given the current circumstances, we were the most dangerous enemy ZDC could possibly have.
We have nothing to lose. We fail, we die, so what? One could easily make the point ‘What is there to live for anyway?’ So we are free to attack the ZDC with a reckless abandon. Not that we will. Although it might feel good to attack them with blood in the face and a primal scream in the throat, a much more planned and surgical strike was necessary. We are not dealing with a redneck militia after all.
Fly Freebird, fly.
After we brushed aside Dunham’s caution, we agreed the easiest plan of attack would be to take down the first moaner we see, get the grenades ready, and make our way to ground zero. Sure, the plan has plenty of holes, but there is no way to predict every detail when chaos is the rule of law.
With everything decided, it was time for a much-needed nap. When we landed we needed to be fresh and ready for battle.
God, this was all starting to feel like one kick-ass movie. Although I was beginning to wish we had taken the time to recruit more power for this attack, Jacob’s warning about too many in the group making it impossible to be silent was stuck in the back of my mind. He was right about a lot of things. It was tragic that he was so right about his infection.
Shit. What a great time to wax romantic about Jacob. I had to wonder, though, if Jacob would be proud of me now. There is no doubt he would be doing everything he could to bring down the Collective. I knew, with absolute conviction, I was doing the right thing.
Blog Entry 12/17/2015 7:13 a.m
I was ripped from slumber when Dunham took the opportunity to inform us he was about to make his final approach. My back was aching from sleeping in an uncomfortable position, as I buckled up and prepped for landing.
The plane touched down with a jerky bounce and the engine wound up to stop forward momentum. It is always that moment in a flight that I assume everything is going to fly apart and all involved would be killed in a fiery, bloody mess. The piercing noise made me think of what a giant robot teenager would sound like should it not get its way. And just when you think the whiny brat was going to completely blow its top, it slumps back down into its perpetual state of apathy. Ah youth.
Shortly after the plane shuddered its way to a complete stop, I took a glance out of the window to get a first-hand gander at the situation. Relief flooded my system when I spotted not a single moaner or screamer on the tarmac. That was good because my feet were getting antsy to step back onto American soil.
There were, naturally, a few steps that must be taken before we attempt to wrangle a zombie. First and foremost, we must arm ourselves. But even before that, we
had to decide which among us would be the ones to find our mark. Sam was obviously out due to his knee injury. The obvious choice was myself and Dunham. Although I didn’t know the man, Sam assured me he was who I wanted at my side when everything went to hell. Seeing as how everything had gone to hell a few weeks ago, I can only see an upside to having him along.
So, we locked and loaded.
Before we disembarked Sam gave me more lessons in combat safety than I really needed. After our little chat, I felt like a flock of ninjas wouldn’t stand a chance. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be going up against ninjas – only zombies.
Zombie Ninjas? Damn.
When our feet hit U.S. soil we immediately ran for the cover of the gate. As expected, there were plenty of non-animated corpses lying about. It looked as though every human in the airport had been desperate to escape as the bodies and carnage were thickest near the gate exits. It was obvious the undead managed to chew their way through the airport. The usual beige and burgundy carpet was soaked with blood and viscera. Skull fragments, muscle, and bits of skin had been scattered about like they had rained down from some horror-show piñata. If I wasn’t careful where I stepped, I might slip on a piece of bowel or flap of skin and wind up on my ass. And if the sight was beyond belief, the smell was enough to induce a permanent gag reflex. The smell of eviscerated human is nothing to be trifled with. The sound did nothing to aid in the comforting of the senses. Every step on the carpet sounded like stepping on a wet sponge, only the ‘wet’ was various bodily fluids – spilled humors. This scene was really testing my desire to run back to the plane and lock myself into the lavatory.
“Do you think whatever did this is still here?” Dunham asked with a slight nervous twinge, taking me by surprise. I would have thought a trained military killing machine would eat sights like this for snacks. Not so. Dunham was just as moved to retching as I.
