Zombie D.O.A. Series Four: The Complete Series Four

by JJ Zep

  Benson and the other man had reached the helicopter, their heads ducked under the downward force of the rotors. Now, one of the chopper’s doors slid open. Chris detected movement to his left and saw two figures. He recognized them immediately.

  “Joe!” he called out, the words dying on his lips as the cold barrel of a pistol pressed to his temple.

  “Move!” Justine said, nudging him with the weapon. “And you Ruby, in front where I can see you. That is unless you want to be picking your daddy’s brains out of the snow.”

  forty three

  Joe emptied his clip into the stairwell then tossed the M-16 aside and made a run for the helicopter, pulling Hooley behind him. In the few seconds that it took to cross the rooftop he summed up the situation. Benson and Grant were already on board, Chris and Ruby were being pushed through the door, held at gunpoint by Justine, the Z’s were in close pursuit, pushing past their fallen comrades and spilling onto the rooftop. Ruby disappeared into the chopper, now Chris and finally Justine. The door began to slide closed as Joe reached it. He grabbed a handful of Hooley’s shirt-back and hoisted him through the gap and into the fuselage. The chopper suddenly lurched to the right, and rose rapidly, shaking Joe loose and throwing him to the ground. He rolled, came up into a crouch, hoisted himself into the air and made a grab for the landing gear. He felt his fingers brush metal, gain a tentative grip and then loosen as gravity pulled him back to the rooftop. The helicopter was rising, ten feet, fifteen, twenty, out of reach now, banking away.

  Joe got slowly to his feet. The Z’s were edging forward, a wall of the things, their dead eyes perforating the dark like spoiled amber. He backed off a few steps, then a few more, until he stood at the very edge of the space, until there was no possibility of retreat. He saw too, that he wasn’t the only one who’d missed the bus. The doctor stood maybe thirty feet from him, seemingly unconcerned by the creatures closing in on her.

  Joe angled his head and followed the path of the chopper, the sound of its rotors still deafening, but receding as it headed east. He looked back towards his impending death, edging gradually forward. How many of them? A hundred? Two hundred? At least that, with still more of them spilling through the doorway all the time. The gun placements stood to his left, half a belt of ammo hanging from one of the twenty-mils. If he wanted, he’d probably be able to hold them at bay a while longer. But what would be the point. He’d only be delaying the inevitable.

  He could pick out individual Z’s now, emaciated, haggard creatures, their flesh rotted away to reveal blackened organs within, jagged teeth in gaping jaws. And yet Joe felt no fear. It was always going to end this way. He’d been subconsciously preparing for this moment for sixteen years.

  He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift to Chris and Kelly, their kids, Ruby, his friends Hooley, Sam Suchet, Ana. Good people all, people who had made this journey worthwhile. “Look after them, Chris,” he whispered into the void. “Look after yourself too, you Mick son-of-a-bitch.”

  In the distance the whap-whap-whap of the chopper echoed off the buildings, receding into the night.

  The Dead, The Damned

  & The Dying

  (Book Fifteen of the Zombie D.O.A. Series)

  J.J. Zep

  PUBLISHED BY:

  JJ Zep

  Copyright © 2013

  www.jjzep.com

  PART ONE

  one

  Jojo Collins looked across the darkened expanse of sand towards the even darker reaches of the Pacific Ocean, stretching, it seemed, into eternity. He regarded the black expanse of the heavens, speckled with stars, but with no moon to cast light on the waters. A white-top rolled into shore, its dull boom momentarily obscuring the babble of laughter from the other side of the dune. Jojo looked in that direction and could make out the glow of the bonfire pushing back at the darkness. He detected the crackle and spit of the flames, the plaintive tone of a guitar, the sound of laughter and of drunken voices joined in song. His colleagues, his fellow graduates from the academy, were enjoying themselves. And why shouldn’t they? It had been six grueling months. They deserved to let their hair down. They’d earned a few days of R and R.

  He reached his hand into his breast pocket and rooted around until his fingers located a small rectangle of metal. He withdrew the object and held it up against the faint glow from the fire. It glinted gold in the reflected light, even though he knew it to be silver.

  “Lieutenant Collins!” a female voice spoke from behind him, sounding slightly tipsy.

  “Hi Ferret,” Jojo said, not bothering to turn as she walked up and slumped beside him on the sand. Luigi was with her and the dog nuzzled his ear, before trotting off to investigate the water’s edge.

  “What are you doing out here all alone?” Ferret said.

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Just things.”

  They sat in silence. “We missed you at the fire,” Ferret said after a while.

  “We?”

  “I missed you.”

  “Did you?” Jojo said, not trying too hard to keep the edge out of his voice. “I would have thought you and Charlie –”

  “Oh stop it Jojo,” Ferret said crossly. “I already told you. Me and Charlie are just friends. He’s like a brother to me. As a matter of fact, seen as your parents adopted me, he is my brother.”

  “And me?” Jojo said. “Am I like a brother too?”

  Ferret said nothing. Jojo studied the contour of her face in his side view, taking in the profile he knew so well. God, she was beautiful. Had there ever been a time when he hadn’t been in love with her? Yeah, he kidded himself, when she was still an annoying little kid with skinned knees and pigtails, who used to hang on Ruby’s every word and follow her around like a lost puppy. But those days were gone, six years gone. Ferret was seventeen now and the love of his life.

  “What are you thinking about now?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You know, Joe Collins, for such an intelligent man, and an officer of the First Ranger Division of the Pendragon Corporation to boot, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about nothing.”

  Down at the shore Luigi was chasing the tide out as it retreated. Jojo got slowly to his feet, dusted the seat of his pants, then reached out a hand to Ferret and pulled her up. For a moment she lingered close to him, their faces just inches apart, and Jojo wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Ferret held her breath, perhaps expecting him to do just that, but Jojo backed away, didn’t try. Charlie would have done it. But he wasn’t Charlie. He was a chicken is what he was. He turned and whistled for Luigi, then set off across the sand to join the others.

  “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect everyone is keen to hear the rest of the story.”

  two

  Jojo shifted his weight, gaining a comfortable position beside the fire. He looked across at the eager faces, his fellow officers, ruddy with wine and the heat of the flames. Charlie sat at the opposite end of the wide circle and Ferret had taken a spot to his left at about nine o’clock, diplomatically positioned half way between the two of them. The whole throng seemed almost to be leaning forward with anticipation and Jojo let them hang, allowed himself a little smile and took a small swig from the wine bottle that was being passed around. The stuff tasted vile. Then again, he’d never been much of a drinker.

  He drew the back of his sleeve across his mouth. “Now,” he said, knowing the answer full well. “Where did Charlie get to?”

  “Joe Thursday was on the roof,” Axel Buckner said immediately.

  “And the chopper had left,” Cecelia van Houten added.

  “And the Z’s were closing in,” Brad Grissom said, completing the preview.

  “Right,” Jojo said, amused by their eagerness. This was like telling fairy tales to a kindergarten class. All of their high-spirited horsing around had subsided. They’d literally taken in a collective breath, anticipating his next word.

  J
ojo didn’t keep them waiting much longer. “What you’ve got to understand,” he said, “Is that Joe Thursday, my Uncle Joe, was a smart guy. Don’t get me wrong, he could mix it with the best of them, he was one hell of a shot, he had balls. Before the whole thing went down he’d spent nine years in Africa, fighting as a mercenary, so he was tough. But no one survived back then purely on toughness. You had to be smart too, and Uncle Joe, well…” He stared wistfully into the flames, and a feeling of nostalgia washed over him. Amazing, he thought, how you could think back with fondness on a time of such terror, when you literally didn’t know from day-to-day whether you were going to make it out alive.

  “So what happened?” an impatient voice cut into his reverie.

  “What happened,” Jojo said, “is that Joe noticed the doctor, and the way that the Z’s were responding to her; what happened, is that there was a twenty-mil with half a clip of ammo; what happened, is that the effect of Bobo Benson’s BH-17 finally ran out.”

  “I don’t understand,” someone said.

  “What I’m saying is that a number of circumstances came together, fortuitously you might think, but it took a smart man like Joe Thursday to put them all together and use them to his advantage.”

  He paused again, enjoying the perplexed look on their faces. Hey, it was his story and he wasn’t giving it up without building a bit of suspense first.

  “Come on, Jojo,” Charlie said from the other side of the fire. “Quit toying with these folks and just tell the damn story. We’re due back in camp on Monday.”

  And so Jojo did tell.

  three

  Joe Thursday looked across the darkened expanse of the rooftop to the hulking shapes looming out of the shadows. How many of them? Hundreds, he figured. So why weren’t they attacking? Why were they shuffling forward cautiously, like a pack of wild dogs approaching a wounded, but still dangerous, prey? They were maybe ten feet away, their nightmare faces looming like specters among the fresh snow flurries, the smell of them reminding him of wet newspaper. Why were they all edging towards the west side of the rooftop?

  The reason, when he saw it, was obvious – the doctor, standing off to his left. All of the Z’s had orientated themselves towards her. Joe turned in that direction too. The doctor was no longer facing the buildings across the park on Broadway. Now, she had turned inward as the Z’s formed a tight circle around her. She was clutching something in her hand, holding it like someone might hold a TV remote. It gleamed dully in the pallid light and Joe suddenly made the connection. He didn’t know exactly how she was doing it, but the doctor was controlling the Z’s, holding them at bay with that device, whatever it was. If that was the case, maybe, just maybe, he had a way out of here.

  The Z’s shuffled forward, a crowd of grotesque rubber-neckers at a crash site. One of them, a stooped, skeletal figure missing an eye and a jawbone, reached out, its bony fingers brushing his jacket in what was almost a caress. Joe took half a pace back and felt himself teeter at the edge of the rooftop. In the distance he heard the thud of the helicopter, sounding closer than it had before. He inclined his head and thought he saw the blink of the machine’s red beacon light. More hands reached for him and he brushed them aside. If he was going to get out of this, something that had seemed impossible just minutes ago, he was going to have to make his move.

  The bunker with the twenty-mils was maybe ten feet to his left. Joe shuffled a foot in that direction, his toes cleaving to the slippery surface of the rooftop, his heels hovering over the dark space below. One slip would send him into the abyss, a three-storey drop that would land him in amongst the ravenous creatures in the lot.

  Another sliding pace, then another and another. Eventually he felt his leg brush up against the sandbagged gun placement. He cast a quick look to the doctor, now just visible among the massed Z’s. They were standing off her, that much was certain. He angled his viewpoint downward and could make out the dull metal of the twenty-mils, one of them with a belt of ammo still feeding into the breech like a row of T-Rex canines. He saw something else too, something that was going to make his job a whole lot easier – one of the twenties had a harness clipped to it.

  None of that was going to do him much good unless he could get into the bunker and that was not going to be easy. The Z’s were still pushing forward, those behind forcing the others towards the edge of the roof. Joe was sure that, before long, they’d perform a lemming-like plunge over the edge, taking him with them.

  He looked directly into the face of the creature in front of him, a putrid decayed face wearing an idiot grin that displayed yellowed, bovine teeth. The thing was so close that it only had to incline its head to plunge those teeth into his throat. Joe raised his hands carefully, placing them on the zombie’s bony shoulders. He braced himself. His next move was going to have to be swift and with a fleetness of foot that he’d probably never possessed, not even in his youth. He curled his toes in his boots, as though doing so would provide him with extra traction. Now. It had to be now. He tightened his grip on the Z’s shoulders, then slid his left foot forward and performed a pirouette worthy of a ballroom champion. In an instant he’d exchanged places with the Z, so that he now faced out towards the park, both feet planted firmly on the rooftop. The sudden movement caused havoc in the ranks of the zombies. Those close to the edge unbalanced, several of them losing their footing and plunging to earth where they crashed onto their comrades below in a series of dull splats.

  Joe wasn’t waiting around to admire the spectacle. He’d already thrown himself to the right, over the sandbags and into the gun pit. He hefted the twenty mil, kicked at the tripod to fold it back against the weapon, then slipped the canvas harness over his shoulder. The weapon felt weighty and reassuring. Joe got his left hand on the trigger guard and lifted the gun’s ammo box with his right.

  “Let’s party,” he said, and depressed his finger on the trigger.

  four

  The Sikorsky Blackhawk powered its way through the darkness, the roar of its engines only slightly muted within the fuselage. There were two rows of four seats, one at either end of the cabin, facing each other. Chris sat flat on the metal floor between the seats, a Corporation Ranger (one of Grant’s personal bodyguards he assumed) holding a gun on him. Ruby and Hooley sat back to back with him, also under armed guard. Facing him from the bucket seats across the hull, sat Avery Grant, Bobo Benson to his left, Justine at right, Ruby’s Katana in her lap, a semi-amused expression on her face.

  “That was Joe Thursday back there,” Chris said for the third time in as many minutes. “Isn’t that what you came here for? To take him into custody?”

  This time he at least he raised a response. “You think that’s what this is about?” Grant spat. “Joe Thursday? Joe Thursday’s a washed up old man, a relic. This was never about Joe Thursday, my friend, this was about the Corporation gaining a foothold in New York. Far as I’m concerned the Z’s can snack on Joe’s fat ass till sunset.”

  “Is that your view or Marcus Pendragon’s?”

  This time Grant chuckled. “Marcus Pendragon is just a young pup who knows to listen when the big dogs bark. Besides, I’ve got you, I’ve got your lovely daughter, not a bad day’s fishing all told. If Marcus wants his show trial, he’ll just have to make do.”

  Chris caught a glimpse of Justine’s expression in his side view. The smirk was still there, but there was a subtle change. She was too much of a pro to show it, but he was certain that Grant’s little pronouncement came as a surprise to her.

  “So you’re here to take over New York,” Chris said. “How’s that working out for you?”

  Grant managed another chuckle, although this one lacked much humor. “I’ll admit that things don’t look too good right now,” he said. “But that’s only because Marcus decided to put his trust in Colonel Benson here. You see, Bobo sold Marcus on the idea of taking New York with a small force of eighty men, figured that would earn him his general’s star. That about right, Colonel?”
>
  Benson said nothing.

  “Me, I said, hit them hard, hit them with force, let them know we mean business. But Bobo’s plan was the cheaper option, less of a strain on valuable resources. The cheapskates back in Pendleton like that kind of thing.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Benson suddenly blurted, the last word coming out in a spew of saliva.

  “Wouldn’t either in your position,” Grant said. “But don’t worry Colonel, once we get back to White Plains, I’m putting in a call to Marcus, calling in some reinforcements. I’ll be taking charge of this operation, so expect things to be done properly from here on in. We’ll soon have this rabble cleared out of my city.”

  “I really don’t feel so…” Benson paused in mid-sentence. He turned his head towards Grant in a slow arc that seemed almost mechanical. In the half-light from the cabin his expression seemed dazed. He cleared his throat with a sound that was like an old jalopy struggling for ignition.

  “Benson?” Grant said.

  “I’m alright,” Benson said “I’m all –” He coughed suddenly, that papery cough that was all too familiar to Chris. Now, Benson gave a dry retch.

  “Ah Christ,” Justine said. She released the catch on her harness and stood up into a crouch, tossed Ruby’s sword aside and went for her gun. In the next moment Benson gave another heave and threw up on the floor. The fuselage was suddenly infused with a weird concoction of blueberries and blood.

  Justin raised her pistol, stepped across the cabin trying to clear a line of fire. “Move!” she shouted to Grant, but it was too late. Benson was suddenly on his feet. He grabbed Grant by the lapels and yanked him out of his seat with so much force that the catches on Grant’s harness snapped. Grant barely had time to cry out when Benson buried his face in Grant’s neck. The sound of ripping flesh was drowned out as Justine’s pistol barked off a couple of shots. The first ripped along Benson’s cheekbone, the second disintegrated his ear as Justine tried for a shot that wouldn’t hit Grant.