by Jack Wallen
And not one zombie bothered to stop and snack.
“What’s going on?” Jonas’ second in command tossed the question back to an aghast leader.
“I have no fucking idea. But they don’t seem to be concerned about brains at the moment.
“This isn’t right. There’s something going on.” Jonas looked out over the carnage, the undead still marched forward. Nearly half of his men were lost. The undead to living ratio was now about sixteen to one. Jonas had to make a decision and make it fast.
They had no large caliber weapons.
They had no grenades.
What they did have was gasoline and fire.
Jonas jumped back up into the truck and started handing out gas cans to the remaining soldiers.
“Take a can and spread out. When they get close enough, we pour and light those fuckers up!”
The men grabbed the cans with a new-found faith in both their leader and their ability to crawl out of Hell alive. Each member of the MC01 squad had seen the effects of fire on the undead – it was disgusting to watch (and smell), but as effective as any other weapon.
“Wait for it.” Jonas called out steadily.
Zombies marched slowly forward, the moan of war growing louder.
“Wait for it.”
Undead arms reached out in the archetypal zombie pose. Any moment a George A. Romero block party and Michael Jackson flash mob would break out.
Instead, the leader of the MC01 squad called out the order to pour. Gasoline splashed onto the ground, an almost invisible barrier between the living and the dead. When the last dregs of the liquid dripped and dropped to the pavement, Jonas ran to the line of fluid hate, lit a flare, and dropped it in perfect time for the flammable liquid to go up and the zombie race to cross the deadly finish line.
Every member of the walking dead brigade went up in flames. The ragged clothing went up quickly. After the cloth was devoured by the flame, it was time for the flesh to begin a simmering, pop and crackle barbecue sonata. The smell of burning undead flesh was an affront to the senses.
Some meat was simply not meant for cooking. And even the desperate hunger of the soldiers wouldn’t give quarter to the thought of pulling off a hunk of once-human flank and going to town.
The human race had yet to reach a state of cannibalism.
A scant few moaners survived the flaming wall. Thankfully, the numbers were low enough that a few fired bullets quickly took them down.
Cheers rang out as the echo of the last bullet sang its song of destruction over the parking lot. Jonas grabbed his cell and called headquarters.
“We did it Morgan. All is clear.”
Jonas was given the go head to bug out of the area immediately. He knew Bethany was a highly intelligent woman. The second she saw the smoldering bodies, she’d know something was amiss. Unfortunately, there was no time for cleanup. MC01 was informed Bethany was near. Time to disappear..
The remaining men gathered the weapons and ammo of their fallen comrades, hopped into the back of the truck, and hit the road. Jonas couldn’t concern himself with what Bethany discovered. His only orders were to clear the area.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter 14
November 21, 2016 6:05 PM
Miles City, Montana
I’d never heard of Miles City, Montana. The Welcome To sign proudly informed us it was home to just over eight thousand people. A quick run of the numbers meant there could easily be six thousand, four hundred zombies. That number, of course, assumed the national average of eighty percent amplification of human beings. I could look at the glass half full and say that left fourteen hundred living humans.
In lieu of us making better time across the country, I broke the bad news there’d be no hotel. We’d camp out at the soonest possible safe location, load up on supplies, get as much rest as possible, and head out as soon as the sun peeked its bright head out of the horizon.
I hated the plan as much as everyone. But there were too many miles still between us and Seattle. Besides, the Audi was quickly beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic for my taste.
We pulled into the typical Pump ‘N Munch and ran through the usual routine: Gas, food, whore bath, quick check of the perimeter, and back into the car for rest. The only concern to raise its hand was the smell. The air was acrid with the smell of burned flesh. A massive part of me wanted to investigate – but I knew better. The less we ventured out, the better our chance of survival. Besides, that burning flesh could just as easily be a clan of cannibals waiting for somesweet meats like us to put on their spit.
Pass.
I sent both Echo and Gabe into the building for a supply run. We were nearly out of both food and water. The pickings were slim this late into the game; but I had my fingers crossed for something, anything of substance. If my shoppers came out with nothing but chips and soda, I might well drop to my knees and weep. No food and I may decide to seek out the cannibals and belly up to their bar. We had yet to break into the kibble. I wanted to hold off on that dive into desperation as long as possible.
The station had no electricity, so the pumps wouldn’t do their job. The surrounding cars all had been siphoned, so I had to get creative. I found a garden hose, lowered it into the underground tank, sealed off the open end, dragged the hose back to the top, placed the end into a bucket, and released the sealed end. It took a while, but I managed to get about five gallons before my arms just couldn’t heave and ho any longer. I’d finish the job in the morning. For now, I had a few other tasks I wanted to complete – namely, put some food in my gut.
Echo and Gabe had already returned empty handed, save for three gallon jugs filled with fresh water. That meant the menu tonight was fit for a feline. Desperation came sooner than I’d hoped. Echo pulled the bag of dry kibble from the trunk of the car. We sat and stared at one another, waiting for the first brave soul to scoop out a handful and crunch away.
Gabe broke first. His hand came out of the bag filled with the dried bits. Without hesitation, he tossed his hand to his mouth as if he were popping a palm full of Capn’ Crunch. The look on his face told us everything we needed to know.
“It’s better than starving,” I said, as I scooped out my own first taste of cat chow.
It wasn’t as bad as I assumed. Yes, it was as dry as a mouthful of sand, and had a vaguely fishy taste, but it would fill our stomachs and get us through, until we could locate some real food.
The cold water washed it all down. What I wouldn’t do for a mint to get rid of the faux salmon and tuna aftertaste.
We complained a bit, had a couple of much needed laughs, and then each retreated to our own little worlds. I fed Jacob and then turned my attention to my long-neglected friend – my laptop. I had to check email and take care of a little Zombie Radio business. Thankfully, I still had a few working mobile air cards, so I had the ability to get on line. The connection speeds were nowhere near what I was accustomed to, but having a slow connection was better than having no connection.
My inbox was nearly at capacity. Should I have been surprised at how many emails contained pleas for assistance? It seemed every survivor on the planet wished to make themselves known to me. I would give anything to be able to reach out and save each and every one. But that’s not the situation. I was lucky to be able to take care of myself and my three travelers at the moment.
What did take me by surprise was one particular email. The email was cleverly sent through a re-mailer – so there was no way to track it. The sender address was completely overshadowed by the contents of the email. It read:
Bethany Nitshimi,
We are impressed. You’ve managed to elude us for quite some time. But that time is coming to an end. The Zero Day Collective has planted operatives around the globe – each with a single directive, kill you and take your baby. You cannot hide forever. No matter how intelligent you think you are, you will make a mistake and that mistake will cost you your child and your life. Once you are out
of the picture, and Jacob in our custody, The Great Cleansing will begin anew.
We have a very special surprise in store for you Bethany – one that will still your beating heart and blacken your soul. Are you prepared for your past to meet your present and put an end to the possibility of a future?
Good luck Bethany.
The Zero Day Collective
I was too damned tired to deconstruct the email. It made perfect sense to take it on faith that something insane was awaiting me, some inescapable trap or new iteration of Zombie Erectus. There was but one thing I could do at the moment – respond. But to simply respond to an email did nothing more than poke the bear. What I needed was to rally more troops. To do that, I needed Zombie Radio.
Carefully and quietly, I sneaked out of the car with my laptop. I had it on the solar charger most of the day, so the battery had plenty of juice. My plan? Record another Zombie Radio podcast, outside in the great wide open. The dark of the stars and the silence of the night made for a perfect backdrop for recording a war cry to the Zombie Radio Faithful.
Short and sweet was my best friend at the moment. I fired up the recording software, added a single track, and clicked the Record button.
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio, your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. This is Bethany Nitshimi broadcasting to you from the great outdoors. Mother Nature is my backdrop and the sound of little more than the wind is my soundtrack. Ladies and gentlemen of the zombieverse, today I received a missive from the Zero Day Collective. It was actually more of a threat than anything. I thought I should pass on to you the plans this group of mad bastards has in store for this island Earth. First and foremost, they have a plan in motion they call The Great Cleansing. Remember what the Nazis tried to accomplish with their death camps? Multiply that exponentially and you have the situation at hand. The Zero Day Collective are Hell bent on creating a planet populated with clones. Those clones will be defined by the leaders of the ‘accepted race of man’.
We cannot allow this to happen. The ZDC claims to have operatives all over the world. I need every member of the Zombie Radio Nation to locate these operatives and take them out. I cannot tell you how to distinguish the Zero Day Collective killers from civilian men and women, but I know they’re out there and are willing to die for their cause. I need my followers to take up the mantle of Hero and help me and my cohorts make it safely to our destination. I realize that destination has not been made public – but know this, across the country I travel to create a safe haven for the race of man.
I also want to let every one of you know how much I appreciate your help, support, and encouragement. This war cannot be won without the Zombie Radio Faithful. Even if you do not pick up a weapon, your voice and your soul are heard and felt.
This is Bethany Nitshimi saying Godspeed and good luck.
Silence would be my music for the moment.
With the recording complete, and converted to a stream-able format, I uploaded the file and set up the link on the Zombie Radio site. Next in line was a simple email to Jamal.
J-Tiz,
What the fuck is Miles City, Montana? Where we are is WTF. We’re close. Next stop, Helena, Montana. I assume the Zombie Response Team is with you? If so, give Morgan Barnhart my love and tell her thanks for the escort of Ninja assassins. I’d love to know how she’s tracking us. Dare I turn this into a game?
Love in binary,
B to the ethany.
That was it. My brain desperately wanted more stimulation, but the laptop battery had to be saved. The solar charger worked very slowly, and didn’t work when the sun was tucked away under the horizon. Fancy that.
There was, however, something else my brain could gnaw on – Dr. Michael’s notes. She traveled with them everywhere. Fortunately, the horde attack that took her down, hadn’t the intelligence enough to search and seize her binder of notes. I, on the other hand, did.
Within the covers of that binder, existed wonders, some of which would take me weeks to decode. As I unwrapped the binder, nervous energy danced just under the surface of my skin. What magical notations would be revealed? A flood of hope that some hidden means of wiping clean this virus, for good, washed through my system.
When the cover opened, an envelope dropped out and drifted to the ground between my feet. On the sealed envelope was my name and nothing more. My fingers nervously tore at the paper to get to the mystery inside. A single piece of paper, perfectly folded and creased, written in the same hand as was the name on the envelope.
Dear Bethany,
By now you know of my sacrifice. What you do not know of, is the truth. You, of all people, should be given the courtesy of knowing exactly what has happened and what could very well be. I hate to seem the coward, in giving you this information posthumously, but there was no other way. Bethany, there is no known cure for the Mengele Virus. That was all a ruse to get you and your friends on my side so you would help me to escape the hands of the Zero Day Collective. That does not mean there is no hope. Out of the lie I perpetuated with you, is born a very real and undeniable truth – a truth you are probably already aware of.
The salvation of mankind rests in you and your baby. Bethany, you will eventually find out that Jacob is immune to the virus. That immunity most likely was spread to you as you carried your baby to term. But that resistance to the virus comes with a price. The Zero Day Collective will do everything they can to get to Jacob. You cannot let them take your baby. You must find safe haven and locate someone to help you create a true cure for the Mengele Virus from the blood of your baby.
It sounds cold, but the needs of the many…
I’m very sorry I lied to you and your friends. Had I not, I feel you wouldn’t be traveling this long road alone.
Be safe Bethany.
Danielle.
The darkness of the evening engulfed me. I felt small, frightened, and alone. Tears dropped from my cheeks and splattered the note, making translucent circles on the delicate paper. There was no cure. Nothing. For the last year my ego allowed me to jokingly say the fate of man rested squarely on my shoulders. Now that there is an absolute truth to that, the weight pressed down forcing me to my knees.
I cried in silence, letting the drops of despair tap out a sorrowful rhythm on the pavement below me. The sound was barely audible, but loud enough to remind me how much I hurt. Spasms racked my muscles, as it all crashed through the barriers of my mental and emotional walls. There were no strong arms to wrap around me for comfort, no hushing voice to say It’ll all be okay. At this very moment in time, the universe had no intention of making anything easy. My heart ached, my brain wanted nothing more than to shut down.
Lies. It was all lies. No cure. The image of the words flashed into my mind’s eye again.
Before I could pull myself together and stand, frail arms snaked around my shoulders.
“Bethany…” Echo’s voice was a whisper of concern. “You okay?”
I forced the lump down my throat.
“I’m fine Echo, thank you.”
I lied. Just piling on the deception. But there was no reason to worry the girl. Let her think the same thing as everyone else – a cure is out there, waiting to be had.
Echo started to help me up, but before I made it to my feet, an all too familiar sound bounced off the space around us.
“Oh God no. Not more of them.”
“Echo, get in the car. Now.”
A screamer was out there, getting close. It could smell us, could probably smell Jacob. What the bastard wouldn’t smell now was fear, not from me. After reading the letter from Danielle, fear had left the building of my heart.
I was immune.
Once Echo was back inside the relative safety of the car, I popped open the trunk, pulled out my collapsible pike, and had it ready to rock.
Let the fuckers come. Let them bring everything they had to this wrecking machine called Bethany.
The sound continued growing nearer. It was lik
e a long, drawn out reverse Doppler Effect, straight out of the bowels of Hell. Wherever the beast was coming from, he would arrive any moment. When he did, Hell’s playground would break out in a dual to the undead finish.
Screeching echoed all around me. There was no way to immediately discern where the point of origin was. Based on the fading of the echo, it was safe to assume the sound either emanated from the North or the East. With that assumption, I ran away from the car to meet the monster in an open field. The pike felt solid in my hands, my arms felt fearless on my shoulders.
Was I kidding myself? Would this new-found reckless abandon find me nothing more than pulp flowing down the esophagus of the undead horde? Fuck.
A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, due North. He was coming. Fast. The scream grew louder, fiercer. The sound cracked and popped the air around me. Shortly after I discovered the dust cloud, the figure appeared – its arms flailed wildly at its sides, its legs pumped violently on the ground. Any minute, any second.
The beast screeched to a halt, standing nose to nose with me. He sniffed deeply and roared out an angry disapproval. Rotten breath burned my nostrils, made my stomach want to turn inside out. Other than his standard issue, Hell-spawned rage, what caught my attention first was his eyes. The eyes weren’t glazed over with a layer or twelve of wood glue. This fucker had the whitest whites and the bluest blues I’d ever seen. Those ice-blue orbs glared deep into me, searched for something it knew was there. Could it possibly know what flowed through my veins was immune to its special flavor of hate?
