Zombie Attack! Army of the Dead (Book 3)

by Devan Sagliani

  Franco came lurching over to us next, since we were closest. He punched down on the glass, making it crack further, but once more it held.

  “It can't take another one of those punches,” I whispered. “It looks like it's about to crumble any minute now.”

  “What are we going to do?” Benji asked, terrified.

  Without saying a word, Moto rolled out from behind our makeshift shield and popped up to his feet, waving his arms and hollering at Franco.

  “Hey you,” Moto shouted. “Over here, you big dummy!”

  Franco turned to Moto and let out a loud cry of hunger and rage. He had stopped growing, but now looked intent on maintaining his size, even if it meant gulping down every last one of us.

  “Moto! Look out!” I cried, as Franco swung his right fist toward my brother. Moto dove toward Franco and rolled head first between the monster’s legs, coming up on the other side into a sprint. Moto grabbed my katana off the ground and kept moving toward Desdemona, but he wasn't fast enough. Franco charged after him, catching up in a few clumsy steps. He wrapped his fist around Moto's waist and pulled his kicking feet off the ground. Moto let out a cry of pain, as Franco squeezed his guts hard.

  “Put him down!” I screamed, but it was too late. Franco was already pulling my brother toward his horrible, gaping mouth, preparing to take the first bite.

  “Moto!” I cried out deafeningly once more.

  “Use the sword!” Benji screamed beside me.

  That was it! There was still a chance so long as he had my katana. Moto brought the shining blade up and over his head, stabbing Franco's right eye out. Franco erupted with an angry cry and shook Moto hard, but my brother managed to hold onto the weapon. Franco stomped both his feet in pain and anger. He jumped up and down several times, and screamed as loud as he could. The glass we were hiding behind shattered into a million tiny little pieces. I stood up and stared at the spectacle in front of me. He still had Moto gripped in his fist, and was once more bringing him toward his mouth.

  He's not going to eat my brother! Not while I'm still alive!

  Blind rage shot through me as I charged toward Franco, letting out a war cry. I punched my fists over and over into his midsection, but it was no use. It felt like I was punching a boulder with my bare hands. I felt the skin of my knuckles tearing loose as blood poured over my fingers, but still I kept hammering away. Franco kicked at me, his massive leg coming up between mine and sending me flying across the room. I landed hard on my butt, feeling my backbone sting as I came down flat with my legs extended out.

  “Do something!” Benji screamed in frustration, as Franco brought Moto up toward his bloodstained mouth once more.

  Moto had managed to wiggle around in Franco's grip, turning enough to face the beast. As Franco brought him up to the gnashing maw of teeth, Moto held my sword up, then drove it straight down into the giant's mouth. Franco let out a gurgling howl as blood spilled down the back of his throat, causing him to choke and loosen his grip. Moto wasted no time at all, slightly pulling the blade out to push the point up with both hands and into Franco's swollen brain. He wobbled for a moment, then let go of Moto, sending him crashing to the ground with a clatter. Franco stumbled back and sat down hard, narrowly missing a petrified John, and causing the ground to rumble. A bloody whistling came out of the gash in his face, but he still didn't die. Instead Franco thrashed around in violent fits, smashing his fists into his own legs in his impotent rage. The blade was still lodged in the middle of his face. Franco reached up with his left hand and pulled it free, letting out a howl like an animal caught in a trap as he threw it to his side. I watched as my precious katana skittered to a halt at John's blood-splattered feet. John threw his empty gun to the ground, and picked up my sword once more. He walked calmly over to the place where Francis had been first lifted off his feet, and retrieved the dead man's handgun as well.

  Moto made an effort to get to his feet, but it was too late. John was already up behind him, placing the tip of the sword at his back. Moto froze in fear and I felt myself holding my breath, praying that John wouldn't cut him down then and there.

  He still needs us as hostages, I thought. He can't kill us. Not now. Not with everything going wrong for him.

  “Don't hurt him,” I yelled. “You need us, remember?”

  John ignored me and called out to Desdemona who was still sitting in shock on her backside, wearing a bright red splash of blood down the middle of her face and clothes.

  “You okay, honey?”

  Desdemona closed her mouth and looked up at him. It seemed, for a moment, as if she had mentally checked out, withdrawn into a fantasy world where she didn't realize that the worst was already over.

  “Honey?” John said again, looking concerned.

  “I'm fine,” she said at last, pulling her feet under her and standing up again. She used both her hands to wipe the blood off of her face, then flicked them toward the ground in a fast motion in an attempt to clean them off. When that didn't work, she made a face and began wiping them on her dress.

  “Well,” John said. “That was very exciting. Wasn't it? Not quite the ending I had planned for Franco, but I'll take it.”

  I turned to look at Franco who was already starting to shrivel some, the absence of fuel meaning that his body was now eating itself. John was right. It was the end of the line for Franco. He wouldn't be coming back.

  “Let my brother go,” I yelled. “It's over.”

  “Nothing is over,” John shot back. “So here is what's going to happen. You and your pal Benji there are going to walk slowly in front of me. Desdemona and I will give you directions from behind. Moto here is going to play hostage. If you try to run or disobey a single thing I tell you to do, or screw things up in any way at all, I will jam this steel right through your brother and carve his kidneys up like I'm serving them for a victory feast. Do I make myself clear?!!!”

  I gulped hard. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he meant it. John was a dangerous guy when things were going well. Who knew how much worse he'd react when his back was truly up against the wall and the odds were against him. But I didn't want to just let him march us back outside to his undead army. No doubt by now they'd already killed or turned most of the Loyalists and Blackshirts, and at least half the bikers as well. I just knew I didn't have a choice. If I wanted my brother to live, I'd have to keep playing along and hope for a miracle.

  “Yes,” I said at last, feeling defeated.

  “Good,” John said. “Now get moving! Both of you!”

  Benji and I marched forward, and John stayed close behind barking out orders. At first I was afraid he might try to lead us back the way we came, but as we continued on it became obvious that he had a different route in mind.

  “Where are we going?” I whispered to Benji, who knew the base and the labs better than I did. “Where is he taking us?”

  “This way leads to the front entrance,” Benji explained before John screamed at us.

  “STOP!”

  I froze in my tracks, fearing that Moto would be punished for anything I did wrong. Once more, I held my breath as I waited for John to do something terrible.

  “This is it,” John said at last. “This door leads to a hallway that will take us out of the main entrance and back toward the gates, away from the base. Xander, open the door and walk out nice and slow.”

  I reached over and put my hand on the handle, my mind filled with terrible visions of zombies flooding in and biting me all over the second I pulled it open. Instead, I saw that the hallway was totally empty. I looked back at John who seemed surprised as well. A look of victory broke out on his face, as if he was close to finally getting his way. He licked his lips with excitement.

  “Take us on out, boy,” he said at last. “And don't do anything stupid.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cautiously we inched forward along the deserted hallways on the abandoned side of the lab, looking for the door that led to the main entra
nce hallway and spilled out toward the front of the base. It was eerily quiet, but I knew that was no reason to believe that a zombie might not pop out at any moment and try to chew my face off. I'd seen it too many times, people letting their guard down early, and then paying the price for it.

  Just as Moto had once done, I thought, recalling his story of how he'd been turned.

  Even though my sword was nowhere near my back I could feel it behind me, in John's hands. The idea of having to wrestle it away from him again only added to my sense of helplessness and exhaustion. It had all been too much, and battling Franco had been the final straw. My strained body ached in unfamiliar places as I walked on, a dull headache spreading across my forehead, the taste of adrenaline still stinging in my mouth like sour acid.

  I can't give up, I thought. There is always a way, always another chance, as long as I am still alive.

  Benji spotted the door first, but Desdemona pushed him aside as he went to open it. She was sticking the gun she'd picked up from John's dead co-conspirator out first, and waving it around like it was a magic wand that would ward off all evils by sight alone. Her eyes darted around wildly, and I realized I wasn't the only one on whom the previous battle had taken a toll. Desdemona seemed to be coming unhinged right before our eyes.

  “I think it's clear,” she said in a fierce whisper.

  “I don't hear any more fighting,” John said, his astonished voice barely able to contain his wonder. “Maybe the zombies got their fill and are just idly waiting to be led back to their cages.”

  Yeah right, I thought. As if that would ever happen in a million years!

  “Let's send the boys out in front, just in case there is still action,” Desdemona suggested.

  “Good idea,” John said. “I don't feel like getting a face full of metal for walking out the wrong door.”

  “Or having your legs chewed off by one of your own zoms,” Desdemona added.

  “You heard the lady,” John frothed, puffing up and waving my sword menacingly in our direction. “Get moving.”

  I started forward first, hoping to shield Benji and Moto from whatever harm might lie in wait for us on the other side of the doors. Behind me, I heard Desdemona's warning.

  “Not too fast now,” she purred.

  “Or I'll chop up your friends,” John seethed.

  My legs felt like they were made of cement as I cautiously walked into the empty hall. There were signs of battle all around me, walls riddled with bullet holes, shattered glass covering the floor, widespread streaks of dried blood on the walls, but no evidence of undead demons. These were the unholy trails of carnage they generally left in their wake. This place looked like it had seen a shoot-out, like people had been wounded here and taken elsewhere to safety. As I approached the exit the sunlight outside blinded me, making it hard to focus. My eyes needed time to adjust before I strolled out onto a zombie-overrun battlefield full of enemies, but I wasn't going to get it and I knew it. I raised my left arm over my face to shield my eyes, as I stepped out onto the common grounds in the now war-torn Hueneme base.

  “Keep going,” I heard John call out behind me, but it was no use. I'd gone no more than a few steps before the shock of what I was seeing brought me to a grinding halt. I was facing the direction where the front gate had been before Benji blew it sky high only an hour before. The bodies of the fallen lay all around me. Some were still intact, while others were torn into ragged pieces that made my stomach churn. Amidst this sea of carnage and loss were the zombies themselves, now curled up or stretched out like drunken homeless people sprawled on a park lawn at high noon taking a comfortable nap. I saw signs of movement in the distance and could make out the forms of several residents of Xanadu, men and women moving between the bodies looking for survivors and checking the condition of each zombie.

  Those are Apache's men, I realized.

  “What the hell?” John called out, shaking me from my stupor.

  “They're looking for the freshly turned,” I said without thinking. “For the ones that can still be saved so they can help them return.”

  I knew firsthand what that was like. I'd never felt as alone as I had after being bitten, and realized I was going to die. I was sure I actually did die for a while, before the hallucinations subsided and I found out I was going to live.

  “I don't think that's what he means,” Benji warned.

  “Keep moving,” John said gruffly, shoving me from behind and almost knocking me off my feet. I stumbled forward slightly, then caught myself just before tripping over a severed arm in a long black sleeve.

  At least we don't have to worry about the Blackshirts anymore, I thought.

  Looking off in the distance I saw now the reason behind John's quixotic outburst. At the entrance to the base were bikers and Blackshirts, all on their knees with their hands on their heads. I could make out the sullen face of Zane among them, now a prisoner, just as Moto had warned him he'd be. Behind them were literally thousands of soldiers slowly marching forward. A large tank rolled onward past them, cutting a line where the Indians had just pulled out the remaining survivors. It came right up to us, bringing a flank of soldiers with it.

  “That's far enough,” John announced, pushing my own sword into my back and drawing blood.

  I froze in place and held my breath, praying he wouldn't do anything rash.

  “I told you this was coming,” Moto reminded him. “But you didn't listen.”

  Maybe now's not the time to act so self-righteous, I thought, even though you’re right. There was no way out of this now. His men were all dead or defeated, his army of the undead had been decimated, and his secret weapon was now gone as well. The only hope he might have had of escaping with his life was now a memory. It was the ultimate I told you so.

  “They’ve finally arrived,” Benji breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “Who?”

  “The damn reinforcements I called for,” Benji blurted out.

  “Don't move a muscle,” John threatened. “Or I will slice you into so many pieces they'll never be able to put your back together again.”

  “It's over, John,” Moto said firmly. “Don't make things worse for yourself than they already are.”

  “I decide when it's over,” John screamed in his face. “Not you or anyone else!”

  “What are we gonna do, John?” Desdemona groaned, sounding frightened for the first time.

  “We're going to stick to the plan,” John yelled, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “That's why we kept them alive. Now all the trouble they've been is finally going to pay off when we use them as a shield and walk right off this base.”

  “Come on, John,” Moto advised. “You and I both know that's never going to happen. They're not going to negotiate with you.”

  “You’d better hope that you're wrong,” John threatened. “For your own sake.”

  The lid of the tank came open and out of the top arose General Helmer from Edwards Air Force Base, looking as fierce and angry and unforgiving as I had remembered from my first and only encounter with him. His eyes seemed to burn with pure electricity, making his peppered hair stand straight on end.

  “I am General Helmer from the Unified Armed Forces of the United States of America,” he barked. “Put down your weapons and prepare to surrender.”

  “You better do what he says,” Moto prodded, raising his arms over his head in surrender. “That is, if you want to live.”

  “I'm not going to tell you again,” the General impatiently admonished them. I saw the troops inching forward, arms at the ready to take us all out if need be. Benji and I both raised our hands in surrender at the same time. John pulled back behind Moto, placing the sword directly into his back.

  “As long as I got my lady by my side and these high value hostages, I think I still got options,” John replied.

  I looked over at Desdemona. Her face was white with fear, her lips parted in a surprised ‘O’ as she glanced between the rapidly s
welling troops surrounding us and her insane lover cowering behind my brother’s back.

  “Xander!”

  “Moto!”

  I looked over to see Felicity and Sonya coming toward us, the troops parting to make way for them. Apache and Kaya were with them, along with Tarunika.

  “Stay there,” I cried out, not wanting anyone else to get hurt. Felicity's face was streaked with tears, but Sonya looked more like a curled snake getting ready to strike. She locked eyes with John and didn't blink.

  “Get back,” John directed. “I'm warning you.”

  “This is your last chance,” General Helmer declared. “Surrender now or be killed.”

  “You'll never take us alive,” John hollered back.

  “Wait!” Desdemona's loud cry split the air. “I surrender!”

  She turned to John, whose face was now paralyzed in complete shock, his mouth hanging wide open, as she whispered, “Sorry love. It's survival of the fittest. Every woman for herself.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” was all John could manage.

  Desdemona threw down her gun and began running toward the tank.

  “Please help us! It was all his idea! I've been his hostage this whole time!”

  “Stop where you are or we will be forced to shoot,” General Helmer warned her, but Desdemona was now so caught up in her act that she wasn't listening. She waved her hands over her head as she continued forward, babbling the whole time.

  “He's a monster! I thought he was going to kill us all! Thank God you arrived when you did!”

  The soldiers took aim, but Desdemona showed no signs of slowing. It seemed she wouldn't be happy until she had thrown herself across the front of the tank and begged for mercy. Just as she drew near enough, Sonya sprang out, moving as swiftly and gracefully as a cat, bringing her fist dead center into Desdemona's crying face. There was a loud thwap as Sonya connected and Desdemona was instantly lifted off her feet and laid down flat on her back. She was as quiet as the grave. She'd been knocked out cold.