by Sam Lang
Severed Volume 2
Myths and Legends
by
Darren Sant & Sam Lang
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Published by Trestle Press
Copyright 2011 Darren Sant & Sam Lang
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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Travelling Companions
In the long line of people happy to have put New York City in their rear view mirror, Judy stood at the front. Of course, the Big Apple had changed over the past few years. It had gone rotten to the core and then came the zombie problem.
Judy Brantwood, born in Ohio, moved to New York to put her BA in Marketing to good use. She had an attractive figure, but a sharper mind. Straight out of college, she landed her dream job with one of the biggest firms in the country. Almost like the plot of a cheesy romantic comedy, she suddenly found herself as the lead for her company’s biggest client, Health-Pharm.
Coming from a small town in Ohio, building a campaign around a “farm” was second nature. Judy almost single-handedly put EZ-Thin pills on the tip of everyone’s tongues, figuratively speaking. She had read the research and she had many meetings with the somewhat off-putting CEO, Randall Bueller. She escaped those meetings, unscathed from his lewd sexual advances. EZ-Thin pills were proven safe. Bueller had given his word.
His word turned out to be worthless.
It wasn’t until after the first attacks that Judy learned the human trial results had been faked. She accidentally discovered a memo about a vault in the basement of Health-Pharm where Bueller ordered the first victims to be locked away. The senior executives copied her on almost everything, but she was not supposed to know about the peculiar side effects of EZ-Thin.
After that, Judy Brantwood’s dream ended. Her expensive world crashed down around her. It felt like it happened overnight and New York was gone. She tried to survive in her Madison Avenue apartment. The continuous sound of people being eaten alive drove her out of the city. She knew not everyone died with the initial onslaught. Pockets of survivors banded together. She watched them in the streets, trying to fight the zombies.
Her keen intellect told her to get out of town, so Judy split. She had to get somewhere safe. With the first winter coming on NYC like a heavy weight boxer taking on a welter weight contender, she did not expect the city would last more than a few rounds.
With the passing of a few years, Judy had become self-sustaining. She kept moving and opted to stay on her own. One day, she discovered that she was in Orlando. She hadn’t been to Florida since she was a kid, the required family vacation. Now, she had no family to share it with, only herself to keep alive.
Judy sat on the balcony of a recently vacated apartment, staring out over Lake Cherokee. She did not know it was called Cherokee. She did not pay attention to things like that any longer. All she cared about these days was keeping those rotting hands from around her throat.
In her new digs, Judy found a half-hidden diary. Some boy’s journal. She thought of him as a boy, because the journal stated he was nineteen. However, as she studied Zac’s handwriting and processed his words, she knew he was as much of a man as any she had ever known, even if he was ten years younger than her. Judy deduced that Zac and two of his children had spent a few days in this apartment, judging by the used diapers in the kitchen trash can. She did not expect them to be coming back any time soon.
To her surprise, someone, or something, started pounding on the roughly barricaded apartment door. Judy panicked. She had let herself get cornered. She did not think the zombies followed her into the complex. They could not have smelled her all the way up here. She knew the walkers would give up on a solid door after a few attempts. This one continued to rattle and pound, until she thought the wood would splinter.
Finally the door popped open. Judy grabbed the nearest item for defense, an umbrella. Good choice, she sarcastically told herself. Luckily, Judy did not need the weapon. She looked into the face of a man in a boy’s body. He carried a baby in a crude sling over his shoulder and chest. Next to him stood the dirtiest girl Judy had ever seen. The poor thing’s blonde hair matted down to her head with who knew what grime.
Judy knew who she was looking at. She did not have to refer back to the journal for the names Zac and Holly. Judy had no concern for the undead out in the streets right now or where she would get her next meal. Her only thought came out in a question.
“Did you name your baby yet?”
Zac looked at her in shock. He must not have made the connection that she read his journal. A brief explanation from Judy helped him understand.
“I’m not giving him a name until I’m back with Liz,” said the hardened youth. Judy looked at the dark curls surrounding his head. The baby boy had a tiny matching set.
“Do you think she went south with Matthew?” Judy asked.
“I plan to find out. We gathered the last of our supplies. If we can find a working car, or maybe some bicycles, we are leaving for the turnpike today,” explained Zac.
“Towards Miami?” said Judy.
“Then Key Largo or Key West. However far it takes. You can come with us if you want,” said Zac.
Judy considered the boy. Considered his offer. She had made a life on her own in this nightmare. She did not know if she was ready to travel with anybody. The thoughts turned her mind back to New York. Back to what she called the Dark Days, before she got out. Back then, she thought she could turn to someone powerful like Bueller, in his tall, glass fortress. The guards with their machine guns would not let anyone, human or otherwise, close to the building when things started to get really bad. Judy remembered another misfit group of survivors. She almost went to them, but ended up on her own. She let her memories of New York carry her back to those Dark Days. She thought about the self-created legend of Randall Bueller. She thought about the myth of superheroes.
A Legendary Headache
Randall Bueller, Randy to his friends, sighed and rubbed his forehead. Always with the fucking distractions. It was like managing a bunch of children. What do we do about it Randy? Boss, we have a problem on the east wall. Randy, water is running low. For five years, they endlessly whined about this and that. Now to top it all, the last thing he needed in his private community with limited resources was a greedy sneak thief. He sat up straight, fixed his false smile, lit a fresh cigar and pressed the intercom.
“Send him in.”
The guards brought in a dishevelled man from the lower levels. His mandatory ID badge proclaimed him a Level Two resident, very small fish indeed. He looked to be in his late forties, but more ragged and sallow than his age should allow. His cheeks had the hollowed look of the malnourished and his clothes were little more than rags. Despite this he was struggling valiantly against the guards.
“The thief, sir. A Mister Ernest Miller.”
Randy tried not to let the disgust for this creature show. It was tiresome being a bloody diplomat all the time.
“What do you have to say for yourself Mr. Miller? We have footage of you stealing food from a market stall in the compound.” Bueller gestured towards a bank of cameras on the wall in his office. “The camera never lies.”
“It’s my daughter sir. She’s starving. Doc Mendez says she needs more vitamins. Our rations just aren’t en
ough. She’s very weak sir.”
Bueller pressed a button, Miller’s file appeared on the screen built into his desk. He clicked and displayed a picture from Miller’s daughter’s ID file. Long shapely legs, a good figure. Randy thought yes, I can find a great use for her. He took a look at Miller and regarded him with eyes as cold as steel and as black as a politician’s soul.
“It’s your lucky day Mr. Miller. I’m willing to increase her rations at the expense of your own. Code Five boys. Take him away.”
Miller tried to protest, but one of the guards pistol whipped him and Randy tutted as Ernest’s dragged feet left a dirty mark on his carpet. Code Five meant permanent relocation, ejection from the compound without the option to return. Miller wouldn’t realize it, of course, until they had him settled in the small room with the trapdoor that would throw him to the hard sidewalk like so much discarded trash in the back alley.
Bueller fished a couple of codeine tablets from a sterling silver pill box in his desk drawer and washed them down with a glass of ice chilled water from his private cooler. Hopefully that was another headache sorted. He tapped away at his terminal and upped the level of Miss Yasmine Miller to Level Four. She would get more food at that level and he’d call her up to his office and console her on the strange disappearance of her old Dad. Doctor Mendez, he moved down a level with just a few keystrokes. That idiot had sown dissent with his comments and that just would not do. If he didn’t toe the line, he too would soon be zombie fodder.
Outside the Chrysler Tower a full moon shone down upon a frightened wide eyed Miller, huddled and cowering in an alleyway as the nightly screams grew louder.
The Myth of Happiness
How could something so massive, so monumental, feel so claustrophobic? Rick wondered that as he looked up at the empty buildings towering over him, blocking out the sky. The entire city used to be alive with so much excitement. Now it was only a graveyard strewn with rotting, walking corpses.
It was his graveyard and he had to protect it. Rick, as Kid Bolt, swore an oath to defend his domain from Brooklyn to the Bronx and everything in between. People still lived here, if one could call it living, and they needed saving.
Maybe Kid Bolt started as a joke. Maybe it was a way to protect himself from bullies in high school. The secret identity gave Rick an escape, an outlet for his frustration. When he put on his mask and blue jumpsuit, he could defend others from the torment he was helpless to endure. Rick’s first 50,000 volt taser put the power of lightning in his hands and then Kid Bolt became real. In his mind, he was a superhero. He would fight for justice and defend the weak.
Something echoed down the block. It sounded like a stick tapping on concrete. The sound shook Rick from painful memories of juvenile torture. He looked to his sidekick, Star Cluster. The silver duct tape that made the randomly chosen Star of David danced across her black cape with the sick smelling breeze. Kid Bolt knew not to call her his sidekick. Powerfist had tried that once and it ended with a swift kick to the balls. Since that day, the whole team secretly referred to Star Cluster as Nut Buster.
After that, Powerfist mysteriously left the team. Kid Bolt figured he must have really felt emasculated by the incident. It didn’t matter because they still had five members. At least, they had five until the outbreak. Dr. Sledgehammer was probably the lucky one, thought Kid Bolt. He fell in his sleep. His wife attacked him like they had seen on so many news reports. That left four members of the Vindicator Corp: Kid Bolt, Star Cluster, Slo-Fast and Miss Wondermazing. Except he was not supposed to count Wondermazing anymore.
Star Cluster jumped down from the hood of the Camaro that had given her a vantage of the empty street. Not all of the Vindicators held Kid Bolt’s high ideals. He knew Star Cluster was in it for the action. Lacking in Wisdom and Intelligence attributes, she got off on the violence. At the moment, she looked like she wanted to investigate the noise. Kid Bolt thought they’d cleared this sector two days ago. He did not like to get any closer to the old Chrysler Building. Besides, there should not be any humans around here now, only zombies. He felt suddenly weary and did not want another altercation so soon. He tugged at his chaffing mask. The city heat made him sweat under his eyes. What an odd place to sweat, he thought.
They had been fairly successful going up against the living dead. Small raids in parking garages or supermarket lots ended with bodies on the ground and cheers from the Vindicator Corp. In their most recent melee, Miss Wondermazing had been bitten on her beautifully toned calf. She loved to show off her painstakingly sculpted body even though Kid Bolt advised her to wear more body armor. Privately, he took considerable pleasure in looking at her bikini. As Rick, he didn’t talk to any girls. Behind his mask, he had a crush on this beautiful woman, although she could have been old enough to be his mother.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The noise came again. Someone was baiting them, luring the heroes into a possible trap and Kid Bolt did not like that.
“Star, we should get back to headquarters,” he said. Whatever waited for them would have to wait a little longer. Night was coming. The dark seemed to stir the dead, make them more active. Still, Star Cluster stared in the direction of the noise, almost longingly, before finally following Kid Bolt.
The Tower
A loud knocking on the door woke her from a fitful slumber. Yasmine made her way shakily to the door. The Level Two apartment was tiny and sparsely furnished. The lack of food was making her faint, but she put on a brave face, for her dad’s sake. They only allowed the heating on for one hour a day on Level Two and it seemed to always be cold. Since the electricity went, everyone relied on backup petrol and diesel generators. Supplies were so scarce that even those on the upper levels had a rationed amount of gas for heat and lighting, she’d heard. Yasmine looked through the little spyhole and saw two security guards standing there. She was nervous about them, they were so heavy handed and they were so free with their hands. There had been bad stories about Randall’s security guards.
“Hello?”
“Miss Miller?
“Yes that’s me.”
“We’d like you to come with us please. Mr. Bueller would like to see you.”
Her heart beat faster. People who saw Bueller often were not seen again. Her Dad had gone out earlier. She wondered if he’d done something to upset the man.
“Okay. I’m coming just give me a moment.”
She made a feeble attempt to comb her hair. Yasmine’s reflection in the mirror stared back at her like a sallow pale-faced stranger. Poor diet and squalid conditions were not helping her health, but it was better than the zombie filled streets. She left the apartment and felt the guards leering stares up and down her body as they stepped across the hallway and into Bueller’s lift. The lift used a lot of generator power and was only used by people with top level authority. Anyone found to be using a lift without official permission was immediately expelled from the tower according to a sign just above the button access. The inside of the lift was plushly carpeted and pleasant music tinkled through speakers set in the roof. It was a whole other world to Yasmine, who was used to her minuscule apartment. After just a couple of minutes, the lift gave a pleasant chime and the motion stopped.
The doors opened up to reveal Bueller’s office.
Yasmine’s eyes widened as she looked around the office. Rare art works and expensive rugs adorned the place. A huge window giving a fine view of the decaying city was just behind his desk. He was staring out at this view as she entered the room. He turned and a predator’s smile adorned his greasy lips.
“Ah, young Yasmine so pleased to meet you,” he said, extending a hand to indicate a seat before his desk. He nodded to the guards to indicate that they should go.
His eyes looked longingly up and down her slender figure and they burned deep with desire. Yasmine, sensing his lust, subconsciously shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“I’m afraid we have some very bad news for you my dear.”
She looked intently at
him.
“Your Father. I’m afraid he is dead. He was working on the top of the compound fence, helping to reinforce it when he fell over the other side. Before we were able to get to him…” Randy let the words trail for dramatic effect.
Yasmine gasped and began to sob.
“How?”
“I’m sorry dear it all happened so fast; there was quite a hoard out there.”
Huge wracking sobs drew Randy around the desk. He held her closely in his arms.
A shark’s grin graced his face as he said, “I’ve arranged to have you moved up to Level Four, and a larger apartment, it’s the least we can do. You will get more space, light, heat and an increased food ration.”
Yasmine looked up gratefully to her benefactor briefly before burying her head in her hands. Her Dad had been the last of her relatives left and now he was gone.
* * *
Outside the compound, Ernest was running for his life. He ducked down a narrow alleyway and stopped briefly in a vain attempt to catch his breath back. He could hear them close behind as they groaned and shuffled his way. The scent of a meal unmistakable in their corrupted nostrils. Ernest ran on, praying they didn’t catch him. Above him a gibbous moon was just starting to show its face over the city.
No Place Like HQ
In the aftermath, the Vindicator Corp came into its own. Before zombies destroyed almost everyone, the members of this team were the outcasts, the freaks. Now, survivors came to them for help. The sudden shift in paradigm also benefitted Vindicator HQ. They moved from Star Cluster’s two room apartment to the public library. Kid Bolt loved having a building that looked like the Hall of Justice, plus he believed they had unlimited research resources lining the shelves. After all, knowledge is power.
