by Sam Lang
There also came a certain satisfaction. Before “Z-Day”, real-life superheroes were usually considered the social outcasts and misfits. Kid Bolt only wanted to help people, but too often, it resulted in his own ridicule. Finally, he could stand proud without persecution.
Listening to her high heels tap on the marble of the foyer, Kid Bolt followed Star Cluster into their immense lair. He could not understand why female supers worried more about their appearance than about the practicality of their uniform. He warned Star Cluster that her choice of footwear could be the difference between living or dying when it came to running from the walkers. For a leader, his followers had a hard time taking orders though.
Slo-Fast leaned across a heavy oak table, two fingers deep into a jar of peanut butter. His white leotard stretched across his bulging belly.
“Oh. Hey guys,” he muttered.
“You can’t be doing that. Those rations have to last us,” ordered Kid Bolt. He tried to grab the jar from Slo-Fast, but the exceptionally tall man stood up straight, taking the jar out of reach. For being almost as wide as he was tall, this giant moved surprisingly fast.
Kid Bolt liked Slo-Fast. He knew that he needed his strength, especially after Powerfist quit the team. It frustrated him, though, that the big man constantly ate. When they did find a rare treat, like peanut butter, it did not matter if it was expired. Slo-Fast always had first dibs.
“How is she?” asked Star Cluster, nodding toward the locked door at the far end of the room.
Kid Bolt followed her gaze with his own. He looked across the scuffed tiles with the occasional scattered books. Wondermazing went into shock from the bite. That made it easy to carry her back to base. Then they locked her in one of the study rooms. The first day, she screamed. A lot.
“Not too much,” said Slo-Fast. He cleared the last of the crunchy goo from his teeth with his extra-wide tongue.
“What does that mean?” asked Kid Bolt.
Slo-Fast looked unsure of his own words. He creased the brown skin of his forehead in thought. Finally, he said, “Not too much sound. She didn’t even ask to be let out. Do you think she....she turned?”
As if in answer, the handle of the study room door jiggled slightly, like someone testing the lock. No other noise. No other movement.
Kid Bolt braced himself. He did not want to be the one to have to put down Miss Wondermazing, but he somehow became the leader of the Vindicator Corp. The others would look to him for something like this. Unfortunately, he had become quite adept at smashing zombie brains. Nothing else happened in the back of the room. He heard Star let out a sigh of relief.
Then, behind him, he heard the tapping on the other side of the glass doors. The same tap, tap, tap of someone hitting a stick or a bat against the sidewalk. Whoever had been stalking them apparently followed them back to their headquarters.
They had not lit the candles yet and darkness spilled slowly out of the stacks like honey dripping down the books. The aisles in the back were already completely lost to blackness. Without streetlights outside, they had no chance of seeing the approaching menace. Kid Bolt felt that someone outside meant to do them harm.
Before he had the slightest chance to form a plan, the front doors smashed open. Glass flew past Kid Bolt’s head, seemingly in slow motion. All he could do was watch. He did not even close his eyes as the glittering shards floated past him.
He recognized the shape in the wounded door frame.
Powerfist.
“Powerfist, you came back,” said Slo-Fast.
“You didn’t think I could leave you little bastards alone?” came the overconfident reply. He held Dr. Sledgehammer’s weapon of nomenclature by the ball peen head and let the wooden handle tick against the floor.
“You’ve been gone for almost a year,” said Kid Bolt. “I figured you were dead.”
The attractive man with the Kevlar vest stretched his gloved hands over the sledgehammer. He balanced the hammer against his palm. Kid Bolt could hear the thick leather gloves creak as he extended his fingers. Powerfist worried as much about his appearance as the girls did. Somehow, he managed to keep his hair pristine. He did not look nearly as tattered or dirty as the other members of the Vindicator Corp and this bothered Kid Bolt.
Powerfist reached behind his back and brought forth a small stick. He snapped it against his belt and the stick began to glow a pale yellow. He tossed the glow stick on the table. It gave off enough light that the four surviving members of this once ridiculed team could see each other’s faces. The yellow light from below reflected in their eyes like a flame of passion. They were ready to fight for their cause.
“Here’s the thing,” started Powerfist. “You remember how this all started? Remember who the media blamed, your man in the tower?” He gestured towards Kid Bolt.
Kid Bolt did not understand why Powerfist said your man. He knew the CEO of the company hid inside his building during the initial onslaught. If that man put dangerous pills on the market, then by Kid Bolt’s logic, he was a bad man.
“Health-Pharm,” said Star Cluster, stating the obvious. At least, they all agreed that the building they had avoided these past five years was a bad place.
Powerfist winked at her, then he said, “You’ve all been doing a piss-poor job of patrolling. I bet you don’t know that Health-Pharm is still in business.”
“What?” interrupted Kid Bolt.
“Well, in a manner of speaking. I doubt they are still producing pills, but the lights are on and somebody’s home. It seems their CEO managed to seal up the building. Now the chosen ones are living in luxury with all the modern conveniences,” finished Powerfist.
“I knew they were in there, but we could never get close enough to find out what was happening,” said Kid Bolt. He did not admit his fear of the heavily armed guards. Superheroes were not supposed to be scared of bullets.
He felt his cheeks burning. He had not felt this kind of rage since the Varsity baseball team cornered him in the locker room and towel-whipped his naked ass until it bled. So many people had died. He lost comrades. In his mind and in his world, this injustice could not stand. He believed heroes had to correct the mistakes of villains. Kid Bolt knew what had to be done.
Kid Bolt considered what would come next. He knew he could count on the Vindicator Corp, living or dead.
He announced to his team, “We have to fix this. We need a battle plan.”
Confrontation at the Tower
Ernest limped along gritting his teeth with every step.
They were closing in on him.
Around every corner he had encountered more zombies. Stupid, dribbling creatures, but oh so deadly. On their own they were easily outwitted, but they were everywhere. Just when you thought you’d found a place to rest, still more shambled out of the shadows. Ernest had learned that you couldn’t just climb high and wait. The brainless creatures would wait you out until hunger and thirst made you desperate. As stupid as they were, one bite and that was it. Game over. You became a shambling, rotting member of the undead. He shuddered, afraid to even contemplate that. His ankle throbbed where he had fallen earlier, tripped over a stupid beer crate.
Crouching behind a car, he heard footsteps approaching. My God, would he never be able to rest? He held himself totally still. His breath held in his lungs waiting, waiting. He closed his eyes, suddenly weary and praying for death. Without the sanctuary of the tower and with his daughter growing ever weaker, he might as well just give up and accept what fate seemed to have in store for him.
The shuffling, shambling footsteps got closer. They were surely right above him now.
“Hey old timer, are you ok?” said a young voice.
Ernest’s weary eyes flicked open.
“You-you’re not a zombie!”
“Hey, that’s ten out of ten for observation, old lad. Now shall we get the fuck out of here and to HQ before we have some company of the undead kind?”
Ernest eyed up the lad. He wore a stupi
d mask and a royal blue bodysuit. He looked like he was going to a fancy dress party as a superhero. He looked a little ridiculous and at odds with the grim nature of the world around them. Ernest despite himself, laughed loud and deep.
“Fuck’s sake old timer. You’ll have every zombie from here to Hell’s Kitchen on top of us. Shut up.”
The kid was skinny. He had what looked like a taser in a pouch on a belt at his narrow waist.
“I’m sorry kid but you look really silly.”
The kid looked offended, but he smiled despite that. He said, “In better shape than you it seems.”
“Yes my ankle, is this HQ of yours far?”
“I was heading that way now and lucky for you, no, it’s not far. I’ll help you hobble. You can call me Ric...Kid Bolt.”
“Ernest. Ernest Miller.”
“Well, come on Ernest. Let’s get you to safety.”
* * *
The imposing front of the public library faced them. Kid Bolt and Ernest slowly climbed the steps with Ernest limping badly from his sprained ankle. Once they were inside and Kid Bolt had gotten Ernest comfortable, he waited for the other members of the team to return from their reconnaissance mission. One by one, they entered the library HQ. Star Cluster, Slo-Fast, Powerfist. Miss Wondermazing was still locked up. They secured the broken front doors and sat down to discuss with Ernest what he might know. Kid Bolt had taken a shine to the old geezer, as he thought of him, and handed him a bowl of hot soup.
“Here you go old timer. We’re not short on food and we have camping gas stoves to warm it up.”
Ernest was so hungry that he nearly cried. He managed not to, but a lone tear streaked down his grimy cheek at this simple act of kindness.
“Now,” said Kid Bolt, taking charge, “this here’s Slo-Fast. He’s a big unit but he can move fast, so you’ve gotta keep up with him. Just hide the food is all you have to do.”
Slo-Fast smiled at Ernest. His not so bright expression conveyed trusting warmth and such an earnest expression that Ernest wondered if he was a little slow.
“This here fine lady is Nut Bus- I mean Star Cluster,” said Kid Bolt.
“Howdy,” she said with a lilting southern drawl.
“Finally, let me introduce a recently returned member of our group, which is known as Vindicator Corp by the way. This is Powerfist.”
A handsome man wearing a bulletproof vest did an exaggeratedly sarcastic bow.
“Hello old geezer. What shall we call you eh? Arthritis man?”
“Don’t be a dick all your life Powerfist. Take a fucking day off man,” chided Kid Bolt. “It just so happens that our friend, whose name is Ernest, has some interesting information for us.”
Ernest took a final spoonful of soup and smiled gratefully at Kid Bolt. He looked at each of the Vindicator Corp in turn. His eyes held pity, fear and something akin to admiration for the group.
“Well you folks have a nice little group here and I admire what you are trying to do.” He paused for breath and coughed. “However, what I have to tell you may come as a shock. In the Chrysler Tower as was, there are people living in filthy opulence. Whilst the world all turns to shit these…” he gritted his teeth, “people are pretending none of this has happened. They are eating fucking steak, some of them. They have light and they have heat. Randy Bueller, ex CEO of Health-Pharm, is lording it over the lot like fucking Emperor Nero.”
“How?” asked Slo-Fast.
“They have built a compound around the tower. At each of the four corners is a manned machine gun post.”
“We know that much, but would they let us in?” asked Powerfist, his pupils for some reason, darting around.
“Unlikely. They are very cagey about resources. You’d have to have something they wanted before they’d consider it. They send out heavily armed patrols from the tower. They clear zombies from the vicinity, but as you know they wander and groups often come to investigate the sounds generated by those in the compound. The machine guns cut them down. However, bullets are limited and they often have archers using arrows to repel the zombies.”
“Clever,” said Kid Bolt, “They just go out pull ‘em out of the bodies and reuse them. Now that’s what I call recycling.”
Ernest nodded and continued, “Anyway, status is everything in the tower. I only made Level Two, right near the bottom, because I brought a stash of bullets and some gold jewelry with me. The higher up you go the more luxuries you get. They have petrol and lots of generators running. Everything is rationed and rules are strict. Everybody works on some task or other. Everyone has a job. It was my job to shift supplies from a lock up in the compound. If you break the rules you are out on your ear. I stole some fruit for my daughter who was getting malnourished. I got caught and they threw me out like so much zombie food.”
Star Cluster whistled, “Man that is fucking harsh.”
“I need to get back to my daughter. I want her to be safe in the tower but I also want her to have the choice to come with me if she wants to.”
Kid bolt stood up and paced, “So if we had something of value to give them, then you think they’d let us in?”
Ernest nodded, “Yes that’s the way it works. Do you have anything of value?”
Kid Bolt grinned, “Four large barrels of gas. Each one is about one hundred and twenty five kilos.”
Ernest whistled, “That’s the new gold guys.”
* * *
After planning all night, they finally agreed to load the four barrels on a hand truck procured from a nearby grocery store. With squeaking wheels, it made less noise and less work than dragging the barrels. Kid Bolt knew Slo-Fast was strong, but even he could only manage one at a time.
They rolled the cart cautiously down East 39th Street instead of Park Avenue. In front of Grand Central Station, it turned into a death trap as people tried to evacuate the city. After five years, the piles of rotting corpses and wrecked cars remained impassable.
Kid Bolt privately struggled with the coming challenge. Somehow, he had become leader of this group. He never expected it and never asked for it. Unfortunately, that role came with tasks that no one else wanted to do. The visit to Miss Wondermazing’s locked room still echoed in his head.
No one wanted to leave their friend at the library. They silently accepted the possibility that none of them would be returning. As such, they did not need the extra responsibility of dragging their zombified friend with them. They could not trust that she would refrain from biting them, although they hoped she miraculously retained some of her humanity. Kid Bolt had the duty of ending her suffering.
He took off his mask. He wanted to do it as Rick. He looked at her once beautiful, but now emaciated face and thought she was crying. The moment before he pulled the trigger, splattering her malfunctioning brain on the desk behind her, he realized it was only puss seeping from her putrefied eyeballs.
They took the long way toward the Chrysler Building, that Bueller and everyone else now referred to as The Tower. After turning on Fifth Avenue, they found the shell of a trendy restaurant in which to hide Ernest. His ankle did not seem to be getting better and he would easily become a liability.
Their uneventful hike ended abruptly. The turret guards did not allow them to cross Forty-Second Street.
“Hold it right there, dipshits,” demanded the well-hidden guard.
“Yeah, nice costumes,” shouted a second man.
For some reason, Kid Bolt flashed on the scene of the French castle from Monty Python’s Holy Grail. Sadly, they did not have a Trojan Rabbit this day.
He kept himself from laughing at a movie he would likely never see again and yelled back at them, “We have something your boss might like.”
The first guard responded, “He might like your girlfriend if she took off that stupid cape.”
Star Cluster started to charge, but Slo-Fast held her back. Kid Bolt started to get anxious. He knew they were making too much noise.
***
A few
blocks away, Miller leaned back in a cracked vinyl booth. He could not get up if he wanted and the noise coming from outside made him want to. The rustling, shuffling sound that haunted his waking nightmares started to get louder.
***
Kid Bolt did not like how the negotiations progressed. Ernest had advised them not to go in their costumes. However, Kid Bolt felt that as the Vindicator Corp, they were a symbol. Without their hero identities, they were nothing.
Powerfist put his hand on Kid Bolt’s shoulder.
He said, “I’ll handle this.” Then to the guards across the street, he yelled, “Colin. It’s me Archie. I told you I would get their gas.”
The realization hit Kid Bolt in the gut at the same time that Powerfist hit him in the stomach with Dr. Sledgehammer’s hammer.
Barely able to breathe, Kid Bolt stammered, “You....betrayed.....us....”
***
Ernest Miller screamed for help as the lifeless, limping creatures flooded into his last hiding place. The first zombie grabbed him by his throbbing ankle and pulled him out of the booth. In an instant, a frenzy of hands and teeth tore at his weak and emaciated body.
Instead of calling for help, or shouting a warning, Ernest used his last breath to say, “Yasmine.”
***
“You dumb shit, where do you think I’ve been this past year?” asked Powerfist triumphantly. Except, Kid Bolt refused to think of him as Powerfist any longer. Now he was plain, unreliable Archie. A coward and a liar.
Star Cluster started pointing behind them and yelling, “They’re coming!”
Kid Bolt dropped to his knees, but he was able to look around and see two small hoards. One shambled down from Grand Central and the other had followed their own path. He knew Ernest could not have survived.
The former hero Archie dropped his sledgehammer and ran towards the Tower. He cried, “Open the gate. Open the gate.”
