by John Ringo
The undead howled in reply but Günter was having none of it. Ensuring that he had a solid grip on the blood-covered crowbar, he drove the point right into the face of the first zombie. The force of the blow jerked the crowbar from his grasp, leaving his unarmed. The zombie dropped like a sack of potatoes, but the second was near. It howled and grabbed him. They tumbled to the ground, the teeth of the undead coming within inches of his neck. He screamed in fear and rage as he tried to push it off of him, but the zombie was strong.
“Still no gun?” Folsom called out from the SUV, his window rolled partly down.
“No! Gun!” Günter screamed back. He turned his face away from the snapping teeth of the undead and put his forearm into its throat. “Help!”
Brain matter suddenly coated his face as the zombie’s head exploded above him. The dead weight of the undead fell fully on top of him. Günter struggled with the corpse for a moment before someone helped pull it off of him. He found himself looking at the pale face of Hans. He was holding a long metal pipe.
“I found a pipe,” Hans muttered in German, forgetting for a moment that neither Chetan nor Folsom spoke the language. “It is a good pipe. I shall keep this pipe.”
“Good,” Günter nodded, panting slightly as he tried to stand up. He slipped in blood and brain matter but managed to climb to his feet. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Good job.”
“Any more of them?” Chetan asked from the far side of the car. His face was sweaty despite the cooler air of the loading bay.
“No, it appears that they are all dead,” Günter said as he switched back to English. He wiped his bloody hands on his pants before he knelt down and picked up his messy crowbar. He grabbed his Bluetooth and slipped it into his ear. “Comms check.”
“The app is up and running…now,” Folsom said. “Get your ears in, people.”
Chetan and Hans both managed to get their Bluetooth in without too much hassle, though Hans left a bloody streak on his cheek. They each checked in with Folsom, who gave them a thumbs up. They looked back at their leader, who was trying not to look at the zombies on the ground.
“Quickly,” Günter said. “It probably is worse inside, and I do not want to get caught in the Mall if the power goes out. That would be…bad.”
* * *
Chetan was wearing his security outfit just in case, but if there were any guards still inside the group did not encounter them. The lights has remained on throughout their trip through the Mall, just as Günter had predicted back at the apartment. Even the Starbucks had been deserted, which came as a surprise to them, Folsom most of all.
“I mean, I expected maybe some hipster yuppie zombie demanding his half-caff skinny latte or something,” the American had marveled over the comms as the team moved deeper into the Louvre. He was safely ensconed in the SUV still, armed with a laptop and locked doors. Günter was mildly jealous, though the original plan had not involved zombies of any kind. “I’m kinda disappointed, truth be told. Not even one.”
Günter, who had never fully understood his American friend’s sense of humor, ignore the jibe. He led them up the stairs and to the first floor slowly. He scanned the area but saw no sign of guards or zombies.
“Let’s go,” he said. A howl from down the hall sent shivered up his spine. Soemthing was approaching them, and fast. “Hans!” Günter shouted in warning as a zombie came out of the shadows near the display where Hans stood.
Hans grabbed a small marble head which looked vaguely Roman and swung it with all his strength. The solid sculpture brained the zombie, dropping it to the ground. Hans leaned over and smashed the sculpture against the zombie’s head a few more times just to make sure before he stood back up. His face, chest and arms were covered in gore. He was grinning.
“You just used a second century Roman statue to kill a zombie!” Chetan howled, the cry filled with pain and anger. Hans looked at the bust in his hand and shrugged, his grin disappearing. Chetan snatched the sculpture out of the Berliner’s hand and began to wipe the bits of skull and brain matter from the marble as best as he could. “Now it’s covered in gore and…and…merde! This is a priceless artifact! Have you no shame?”
Günter shook his head. He had been worried about Hans losing his grip on his sanity, but this proved the man was at least willing to fight for his life when it was on the line.
“I’m robbing the Louvre during the end of civilization,” Hans reminded the Frenchman as he saw Günter looking at him. “I have no shame.”
Günter patted Hans on the back, a smile slowly forming on his face. “I might have done the same.”
“Je peux sentir ta chatte…” Chetan muttered and looked away, angry.
“Quiet,” Günter said, his focus settling on the job once more. “This area looks to be clear of them. We will move to the next floor and get all that we came for.”
“Aw, c’mon guys,” Folsom whined through the Bluetooth. “At least go back and steal the Mona Lisa for me.”
“No, that was not part of the plan,” Günter replied. “We stick to the plan.”
“But…the Mona Lisa?!” Folsom continued to protest.
“No.”
“You suck, dude.” The American was peeved.
Günter did not have time reply. More zombies were waiting for them around the bend in the corridor the group had just rounded.
“Quick! Into that room!” Chetan called out. They ran into the room and looked around. It was filled with paintings that Günter did not recognize. Chetan, however, was as comfortable as one could be with a horde of zombies pursuing them. “Down that hall, then turn right!”
“Where does that lead?” Günter asked as they ran, their breath starting to come in short gasps. A painful stitch in his side began to form.
“To the other stairwell,” Chetan replied. The Frenchman, in spite of the copious amounts of wine and foul-smelling cigarettes he regularly partook, seemed to be handling the run just fine. More howls erupted further down the hall as more zombies took up pursuit. “Merde! Left up here!”
Günter slid a bit as they rounded the corner, Hans hot on his heels as they followed Chetan through what was rapidly becoming a maze to the Germans.
“How…much…further?” Günter asked between breaths.
“Left, then two rights, then up the stairs,” Chetan replied. The bastard was not even short of breath, Günter saw.
“This would be hilarious if not for the zombies chasing you,” Folsom commented over the Bluetooth. “You run in one room, the zombies chase you, you appear to run into another room, they chase you.”
“How are you watching this?” Chetan asked. Günter was curious as well.
“That USB drive you hooked up to their servers for me also gave me access to the security cameras, as well as their sound system,” Folsom replied. “In fact…hold up, I need to download something.”
“Ich werde verdammt töten,” Günter hissed. The stitch in his side was growing worse.
“What was that? That sounded kind of garbled over the comm,” Folsom said. “Ah, found it! You’re gonna love this.”
Saxophone music suddenly blared over the intercom of the Louvre, drowning out the howls of the zombies and the thundering footsteps of the men who sought to rob the museum. It was a frantic saxophone, with accompanying music. It was familiar to Günter but he could not immediately place the song. He ran into another room and suddenly it clicked. His eyes widened.
“Benny Hill?!” Günter fairly screamed. “This is not funny!”
“I know, right? This shit is hilarious! I would put this up on YouTube…well, except for the fact that we’re robbing the Louvre, I mean,” Folsom laughed. “Who doesn’t love a good Yackety Sax scene?”
“I will mount your balls on the wall of my mega yacht!” Günter promised.
“Somebody’s testy…get it? Testy?” The music stopped. Folsom gave a long-suffering sigh. “Germans have no sense of humor…”
“They stopped chasing us,”
Chetan said and slowed to a jog. He looked around. “We’re close. There, the stairwell. This will lead us directly to the room we want.” Gathering their breath, they pressed onwards up to the second floor.
The group ducked into the smaller room near the stairwell and found their target—the crown jewels of Louis XV. The display room appeared to be empty of zombies, though Günter was quickly learning that even the slightest bit of darkness could hide one of the creatures. He pulled out a small aerosol can and began to spray the edges of the glass. The glass began to sizzle as the acid—cleverly hidden within the can—chewed through it. The other two men carefully removed the glass to expose the jewels within.
There were dozens of necklaces, earrings and pearls on display. Prominently featured was a crown covered in gems and diamonds. A scepter similarly decorated lay next to it.
Another howl echoed from somewhere in the Louvre. Günter nervously looked around but spotted nothing. He motioned at the other two.
“Quickly,” he said, his breathing finally back to normal. “We do not have much time.”
“The crown looks very expensive,” Hans said, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Chetan snorted in disgust.
“Covered in fake jewels,” he said. “Louis XV was a cheap bastard. He was forced to wear this cheap imitation because he used the real jewels to pay off his debts.”
“What a shame,” Hans shook his head. Günter knew from past experience that his friend was trying to focus on the task at hand. It helped block out the carnage that they had wrought on the zombies in the loading dock.
Hans picked up a gorgeous necklace decorated with green gemstones. “What about this one? Is it a fake?”
“Those are real,” Chetan confirmed. “They weren’t on the list because they were supposed to be cleaned this week and taken off display. Since le fin du monde has decided to occur…” he shrugged. “We would be fools to leave these behind.”
“Good,” Hans smiled and tossed the necklace into the silk bag.
“Not like that!” Chetan fairly howled. “Do you know how long it will take to untangle that now? You are a savage! Günter, why did we bring this débile along?”
Günter felt a headache replace the pain in his ribs. Perhaps he could get away with one murder in his lifetime? Other than a zombie, in any case.
They cleared out the rest of the jewels, including the ones that were not originally on their list. Günter knew that they would make them wealthier, even if the end of the world might interrupt their flow of cash from their Russian benefactor. Still, they were almost priceless, and they could be used as barter should there be more zombies blocking their way to the Caymans.
“Chetan, we need to find a different way out,” Günter suggested. “Folsom, is there any way you can pick us up somewhere other than the loading dock?”
“Maybe,” the American answered in a hesitant voice. “I might have an idea…”
“If we continue down this corridor we will see more display rooms,” Chetan replied immediately. “The only exit that way is the north stairwell. That can take us to the first floor, and then further down into the mall.”
“I thought we were going to avoid the Mall?” Hans asked as they hurried down the hall, away from the zombies who might be pursuing them.
“That was before I was reminded of the Starbucks,” Chetan answered in an anxious tone. “Somebody thought it was a good idea to put that in. I wish to burn it down.”
The Frenchman was a purist, Hans knew. He would always find something to be unhappy about, whether it be the differing brush strokes between eighteenth-century Dutch painting masters or if the Louvre allowed a Starbucks. It would never be a mystery to Hans why Chetan was perpetually single.
The trio encountered a few more of the scattered dead as they raced through the building but no actual zombies. The dead appeared to be half-eaten, which Günter knew would give him nightmares for years to come. Their last bit of trouble met them at the door to the Mall—or rather, outside of it. The street outside was packed with the undead.
“Where are you, Folsom?” Günter growled as the zombies outside began to howl in earnest. They could not see any sign of regular people.
Headlights appeared in the midst of the crowd of zombies. Günter blinked for a moment, trying to get his eyes to adjust at the increasing brightness before he realized that the SUV was headed right for him. He dove to the side as the SVU came plowing through the glass doors like a metal juggernaut. Folsom slammed on the brakes as he reached their position, causing the vehicle to slide around perfectly in front of them. Günter picked himself up off the floor and along with the others, hastily climbed inside.
The zombies swarmed the SUV. Chetan kicked one in the face just before it could get inside.
“See?” Folsom said as Chetan fell onto the back seat, gasping for breath. Günter slammed the door on one of the zombie’s hands, breaking it. Hans climbed over the front seat to get into the back where the others were. The American accelerated and the SUV began rolling out of the Louvre and down the packed streets, dragging the zombie alongside. More crashed into the grill and fender but they did not stop the determined driver. Another bump and the zombie which had been stuck fell away, leaving its hand as a parting gift. “And you guys made fun of me for playing so much Grand Theft Auto.”
“Get us out of here!” Hans demanded loudly.
“I’m trying!” Folsom shouted back at him. “Zombies! I can’t go too fast or they’ll bust the car up more. It’s barely hanging on as it is! I think I broke something important when I crashed through those doors.”
“I thought you said you could drive?” Günter snapped, his temper finally at a boiling point. He began to quote the American, heavy Southern accent and all. “‘I roll dirty on GTA and I drive the same.’”
“Screw you,” Folsom grunted but shifted into another gear. He flipped the four wheel drive button and the SUV lurched as it activated. He floored it, plowing through the sea of zombies. Disgusting bits flew up and got stuck on the windshield wipers. Their dark blue SUV began to look decidedly reddish. “Next time, I’ll just leave you in the middle of the damn zombie apocalypse, you ungrateful Kraut!”
“Just get us to the Le Havre,” Günter ordered, his voice back to normal. “You have the route mapped?”
“As best as I could,” Folsom nodded, the momentary anger gone as quickly as it came. He turned the SUV down another crowded street. “Haussman gets us to the Normandy route fastest I think. It’s the most direct route.”
“The boat will wait for us until noon tomorrow,” Günter consulted his phone. Service was still up and running, though his reception bars were low. “We have nine hours to make the two hundred kilometer drive.”
“Piece of cake,” Folsom said as he plowed through another zombie. “What’s the worst—”
“Shut up! Don’t you say it!” Chetan cried out.
Günter sighed. It was the end of the world and this was the best that he could come up with. He rubbed his forehead. Sand. Women. Warm weather. The fact that everyone in the SUV was now a billionaire. He could handle this. He could deal with their peculiarities. He had done it for the past nine months, since the plan took shape. He could live with this for just a little while longer.
“The Bahamas will be nice,” he predicted, trying to cheer himself up. For a newly-minted billionaire, he was very unhappy. “Good food. Swimming. Warm waters. Naked women. None of this zombie nonsense, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Hans agreed.
They drove on, uninterrupted save for the occasional bump in the road from where a zombie fell beneath their tires, a wave of zombies behind in hot pursuit.
The Meaning of Freedom
John Ringo
“Hmmm…that’s odd.”
Doctor Rizwana Shelley had never been entirely comfortable with running the main vaccine production facility in the post-Fall world. While she had, reluctantly, come to the conclusion that making vaccine from human spinal
cords was a necessity, it was always an unpleasant necessity.
As others had been found who could manage the production, she had segued smoothly back to research. As much as could be done under the current circumstances. Which was why she had been handed this particular conundrum.
One of the Gurkhas tasked with acquiring “materials” had turned up something odd. The primary infected threat were the alphas, the insane, violent, sub-sentients that the H7D3 virus had left of humanity. As such, they were the main primates “collected” for the attenuated vaccine. The Gurkhas collected their spinal cords as they cleared portions of the suburbs surrounding London. Metro London itself was still too rife.
One of the spinal cords, however, had been found to be uninfected. Normal spinal cords were white or yellowish. The H7D3 virus infesting the spinal cord and brains of infected was a distinct crimson.
“I hate to ask this,” Doctor Shelley said, holding up the spine in a ziplock bag. “But are you sure that all you collected were from infected?”
The words were in fluent Ghorkali. Doctor Shelley had not spoken Ghorkali prior to the Fall so it was her twenty-eighth language. She agreed in general with other linguists that after about the eighth most of the rest got easier.
“They were all naked,” Captain Surigar replied. “All acting as if they were infected. None called out to us in any way, Doctor. We are Gurkhas. We would not clear a human.”
The Gurkhas made it a point of pride to never kill a non-combatant. Infected were combatants even if they used teeth and hands to do the fighting.
“Let me do some work on it,” Doctor Shelley said. “And if you find any more that are clear, try to recover the bodies as well, please.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Captain Surigar said. “Is it…fading?”
“That is the interesting question.”
* * *
“We have found another, Doctor.”
Rizwana had managed to set up something of a complete laboratory from the wreckage of civilization. The King had been insistent on the subject. Britain was barely in the beginnings of recovering from a devastating plague. Having their top microbiologist fully equipped was right up there with ammunition for the Gurkhas.
