by Waltz, Fred
It was inside that cave that American Operatives (CIA), aiding Benin freedom fighters, discovered Specimen Z. The newly formed Benin government was all too happy to allow the American Operatives to assume custody of the creature discovered in the cave. Specimen Z was transported back to America. Testing began immediately, Specimen Z was difficult to control, many handlers and researchers were killed. In 1965, the true potential of Specimen Z was discovered after one handler was accidentally bitten. Within hours, the handler became a mindless shell of himself, with supernatural strength. He killed and infected twelve other researchers before he was subdued.
The possibilities were endless; military minds began to churn at the thought of the invincible armies that could be created with the help of Specimen Z. After many mishaps and one near fatal outbreak in 1968, that was covered up by blaming a radioactive space probe explosion, Specimen Z was placed in deep seclusion and all testing ceased. Then in 1989, a fledgling technology (Cryogenics) enabled Specimen Z to be controlled. Project Zulu phase one (formerly Project RE-AN) was established September 12, 1992.”
The briefing continued going over past directors, milestone discoveries etc., all stuff Jimmy and Ross knew already. Once the audio stopped, Jimmy removed his headphones and walked right up to the General.
“Zombies Mike? Zombies! Are you kidding me? This is science, not science fiction.”
“Calm down Jimmy, I know it’s hard to believe. When I found out yesterday I didn’t want to believe it either. I have seen film footage and some old black and white Polaroid prints. Trust me, it is true.”
“Mike I will not calm down. What the hell are we talking about here? Reanimating dead soldiers, turning them into zombies? I thought we were trying to isolate the vector strain of the DNA sequence…I thought we were trying to cure cancer, synthesize organs…I thought my research was going to be able to help people like Julie; people with real medical concerns.”
“The scope of the project has changed.”
“Changed? That’s the best you can come up with? The scope of the project has changed? What the hell is going on Mike?”
Ross is still in his seat with a look of total amazement on his face. “I remember when it happened, back in 1968, well bits and pieces anyway. It happened here in the area, close to here anyway, somewhere up around Evans City, right? I remember watching the news reports on television, it all started at some farmhouse next to a cemetery. The next day it was downplayed, the media did a special briefing calling it a hoax, like the Orson Welles radio program back in the 30’s about Martians.”
“That is right Ross, I didn’t think you were old enough…”
“I was just a kid, maybe six or seven. I only remember because it scared the hell outta me. Is this what we are dealing with?”
Mike walked to the front of the room. “Listen, I know this is a lot to digest. I want you to go home, get some rest. I have already finished picking the security team, you were just called in as a formality, and they are being briefed right now. Specimen Z is being relocated as we speak, and final testing begins Tuesday. Go on, get outta here, and come back Tuesday.”
And just like that, General Balchor was gone. Jimmy and Ross look at each other. Jimmy motioned for Ross to be quiet and to follow him. They went to Jimmy’s office. He was sure there were no listening bugs there.
“Ross, did you know anything about this?”
“No Jimmy, I swear I am just as surprised as you.”
“I still don’t know exactly what to make of this, but I can tell you that it has just gone to a new level. You can do what you want, but I am getting rid of my insurance policy, do you know what I mean?”
“Jimmy I am not so sure that is a good idea. How would we get past security?”
Jimmy tosses a couple of small square packages on his desk, and explains the plan to Ross. “Just make sure you get rid of it right, I am thinking cremation, then sealing the ashes in an airtight container, and then sinking the container in the swamp. You do whatever you want, but if you get caught, I will sell you down the river, just like I would expect you to do to me.”
“Jesus, Jimmy…you sure, maybe we should just tell General Balchor about the thumb, you know give it back to …”
“Are you nuts? We would be arrested and put away forever! What about your wife, what about my daughter? No, we get rid of it, end of discussion.”
“Jimmy, I am sorry, I know that you were hoping to correlate this research with a way to help Julie.”
“Well, it looks like that is no longer an option. Besides, Julie got her kidneys; the hospital called last week. I just need to finalize the arrangements and get her to Memorial Hospital in Los Angeles. Ross, it is time for us to cover our tracks. I will see you Tuesday.”
Chapter 11
The moonlight is shimmering off the standing water of willow bog. The sounds of bull frogs serenading the stars dominate the crisp cool air. Off in the distance, a piercing light leads the way for the thunderous boom and throttle of an iron horse. William Harley and Arthur Davidson would be proud of the 1973 Shovelhead, decked out in polished chrome and wearing America’s colors. The cursive white letters across the gas tank identify her as ‘Old Glory’; riding atop Old Glory, as always, is Breaker.
Breaker –Christian name Francis John O’leary–is a stereotypical biker, by appearances only. He is called Breaker by different people, for different reasons, women because he breaks their hearts, men because he breaks their jaws and cops, because he breaks their laws. He has grown comfortable in the nickname, and encourages the use of it. When Breaker encourages something, it was a pretty good idea to go along. He stands six foot five inches tall and tips the scales at 285 pounds; not an ounce of fat, all chiseled hard muscle. He wears his hair tied back in a pony- tail and his mustache and goatee would make any walrus proud.
Before he was Breaker, he was Petty Officer O’leary, A Naval Special Warfare Operator (SEAL). He enlisted in the Navy right out of high school. During the initial eight weeks of basic, he took the ‘SEAL Challenge’. The ‘SEAL Challenge’ allows less than 40 minutes to swim 500 yards, do 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 25 pull-ups and run one and a half miles, Breaker finished in under 30 minutes. He was on his way to being a warrior. Fifty-nine weeks of torturous training later, he earned his Trident and the title S.O., Special Operator.
Breaker gave the Navy eight more years of his life. He became very disillusioned with the civilian leadership, pulling the strings of the military, after what he considered a ‘lack of positive response’ to the terror attacks on September 11, 2001. Officially, according to his declassified service record he completed his term of service and was honorably discharged. Unofficially, he and three other members of his team were ‘relieved’ from duty with full pensions, after they launched an unauthorized, covert operation in the foothills of Afghanistan, looking to even the score. The unconfirmed body count of their excursion was forty five.
Now, at the age of 42, he is happy to live off his military pension and hold court every night with his trusted friends and followers.
Old Glory is tearing down State Route 166, heading for a familiar destination. The glow of the neon sign identified Valhalla from 700 yards in both directions. Breaker steers into the gravel parking lot, Old Glory’s motor grumbles like a giant gargling glass; he kills the gas and props her up on the kickstands. He takes his riding jacket off and lays it across Old Glory’s seat, he has no doubt it will still be there later, no matter how long he stays inside.
As he prepares to go through the front door, he stops, smiles and stretches out his arms in front of himself lacing his fingers and cracking each knuckle. Tattooed on his left inside forearm is an eagle gripping an anchor, trident and musket; on his right, in bold letters, the phrase ‘God of Thunder’. He knows that no matter what else is happening inside Valhalla, the minute he walks in, the chorus from the KISS classic (God of Thunder) will grace the sound system. He is smiling because he thinks that it is cool to have his own
entrance music. He pushes through the door, seconds later he is bathed in a pounding base line, and the entire bar begins singing along with Gene. “God of thunder (Dadu-Da) and rock and rolllll (Da-da-da-da-Dun-da-da-da) the spell you’re under (Dadu-Da)…”
Chapter 12
Jimmy is a little nervous; he is worried about what might happen if he is caught. Treason is a scary word; facing a firing squad is even scarier. In theory the plan is ingenious; he is astonished that Mr. V (whoever he is) has come up with it. He just hopes that he doesn’t get a case of frostbite. He is also concerned that Ross might not be able to stick to the plan. He hopes that Ross doesn’t screw up, because if he does, he will go down by himself. Jimmy looks at his reflection in the mirror, leans forward and splashes some water on his face. While he is drying his hands he calls over his shoulder. “Ross, make sure you flush three times, just to be sure the wrappers go down. Remember, I need 20 minutes to clear the building. Ross?”
From behind a closed stall door Ross answers. “I know, I got it, I am still a just a little freaked out, but I got it.”
Jimmy exits the restroom, and heads right towards the exit “Have a good night Jeff, see you later.” Jeff just nods back and begins to wave the metal detector.
“Alright Mr. Gaston, you know the drill, please walk slowly through the body scan.”
Jimmy holds his breath and starts walking through. The technician in the control room examines the image on the screen in front of him, (it resembles a colored negative of a picture), bones dark blue, muscles and tendons dark red, flesh bright reddish-orange. The image of Jimmy appears perfectly normal, same as always. The technician pushes the button, opening the other side of the chamber, allowing Jimmy to continue.
Had the DOD approved Jimmy’s request 18 months ago for the modified facial recognition software, then the computer would have compared today’s scan against all of the previous scans taken of Jimmy. Had that happened, then the computer would have flagged the scan, because today Jimmy’s penis was approximately one half inch longer than it ever had been before, and it had a partial fingerprint. Had the DOD approved the request, thirty minutes later the computer would have flagged Ross’s scan for the same reason. But the DOD did not approve the request. Jimmy was glad but he wondered how Mr. V knew that the DOD had not approved the request.
Jimmy pulls the car over two miles down the road, unzips his pants, and removes the knotted sheep skin condom, with the severed thumb inside the tip. He places it inside Mr. V’s special canister and drives on.
Ross barely makes it half a mile. He is freaking out, in a hurry to get the condom and severed thumb away from his manhood. He tears the condom, dropping the severed thumb piece on the passenger seat. Without thinking, he grabs the thumb, which is still cryogenically frozen, and the liquid nitrogen that is beginning to sweat out of the tissue immediately burns his hand. Again, without thinking he shakes his hand, sending the thumb out his car window onto the berm of the road. A large bull frog just happens to be sitting between the berm and the soft sandy shoulder of the road. The bull frog catches the movement of the bouncing thumb, flicks out its tongue and quickly swallows down the piece of thumb. The frog hops off into the marsh. Before the frog lands, its stomach bursts open, from the frozen thumb piece, killing it immediately. The thumb is propelled away from the frog, deeper into the marsh.
Ross regains his senses and slams on the brakes. The car skids to a stop; Ross gets out of the car and makes a half-ass attempt to find the thumb, but his hand is throbbing from the nitrogen burn and he is still concerned about his lower extremities being contaminated. He moves the dead frog with his shoe, just to make sure the thumb isn’t underneath it, decides that wherever it is, it is no longer his problem. He gets back behind the wheel of the car and starts to drive away; he is trying to buckle his seat belt, with no luck because of his hand. As soon the speed of the car reaches 50 MPH, a large bird slams into the windshield of the car, and causes Ross to veer the car across the center line, off the road and right into the five foot wide trunk of a sycamore tree. The next thing to hit the tree trunk is Ross’s forehead, he dies on impact.
Jimmy is just placing his half of the thumb in the locker when he gets the call from Mike about Ross’s accident. “Jimmy, one other thing, it appears as if Ross has some sort of chemical burn on his hand. The CSI team also found a broken condom on the passenger seat. Jimmy, I hate to say this under these circumstances, but it looks like Ross might have been up to something.”
Jimmy didn’t know what to say.
“Anyway, I have decided to delay testing for a week. Media is all over the crash site, and I have to do some damage control. Go ahead and take some time, I will see you next Monday…the new consultant should be here by then.”
“New consultant, what do you mean? Who, Mike what is going on?”
“Gotta go Jimmy, see you next week.”
Jimmy drives with the radio off. He calls Jules and tells her about Ross, and that he might stop by his house to check on his family. What he really needed was some time to get his story straight, and to sort some stuff out. He had to find someplace to stash the bag on the backseat…the bag with $500,000 cash inside it. He wonders what has happened to the other piece of the thumb. Did Mike find the thumb, and just not tell Jimmy? He decides what he needs is a drink.
Chapter 13
It has been three days, since the crash that claimed Dr. Ross Gandle’s life. The FBI, in conjunction with the DOD has taken approximately twelve dump truck loads of swamp, (including the entire sycamore tree) that was the accident scene, to a secure location for further analysis. There have been thousands of photos, hours of video and hundreds of scans by numerous types of instruments. Absolutely nothing has been discovered.
The local media is up in arms over not being allowed access to the accident site. There has been much speculation about what exactly goes on inside the Syscorp complex. The official press release when the building was constructed was that it was a research and design facility specializing in military body armor. Very few people bought that explanation.
General Balchor has set up a briefing area, approximately 1500 feet down the road from the accident site. He is wearily answering questions, his patience growing very thin; because some members of the media are not buying the cover story about two drunks being the victims of the car crash.
“As I have already stated, and hope to not have to clarify again, John.” (John Macgregor is an investigative reporter from Channel Three Pittsburgh). “The victims, yes that is plural as in two, were traveling at a high rate of speed when they struck the tree. Although we are not prepared to release the identity of the victims, I can confirm that they are not local residents; and appear to have been passing through. A trace of Gruidae DNA, which I am told is technical for Sand Hill Crane, was detected on the windshield. Both occupants of the vehicle, we have no idea who was driving because both were ejected, have been confirmed to be legally impaired. From what we have pieced together, this is a simple case of drunk driving and bad timing. We believe the victims stopped at a local bar, had a few too many, and then drove off.”
A reporter interrupts. “Why exactly is the military involved in what is obviously, according to you, a simple case of drunk driving? Where are the local police?”
“Due to the proximity of the accident to a government facility and because of the status of the protected land…”
Another reporter cuts Mike off. “General, how did the government get permission to build a complex like that in the middle of a protected wet land?”
Now the questions are coming in rapid succession, leaving Mike no time to respond.
“Why is a four star General briefing us?”
“What really goes on inside those buildings?”
“Were the occupants of the car government employees, military?”
Mike is just about at the end of his rope. “As I already stated, the occupants of the car were not local residents.”
“
That doesn’t mean they were not government employees. Are you trying to cover something up General?”
“General, why is the razor wire at the top of the fences pointed in the wrong direction?”
Now Mike is just flat out pissed off. “Now hold on just a minute. This is about the accident, not the Syscorp facility.”
“General, why don’t you stop ducking the questions, what about the razor wire?”
Mike recognizes Macgregor’s voice. “What are you talking about John? All facilities like Syscorp have a fenced perimeter.”
“Oh no, you don’t get off that easy, general! I know a thing or two about secure facilities, that razor wire is going the wrong way. It is keeping someone in, not someone out. I have covered three executions, live from state penitentiaries; the razor wire at Syscorp is just like the razor wire at prisons.”
“Alright, that is all I have time for, no more questions. The soldiers will escort you all from the site.” Mike walks away shaking his head. Leave it to the government to screw up something as obvious as the direction of the razor wire.
About 800 feet down the road from the accident scene, between the berm and shoulder of the road there is a decomposing frog carcass, teaming with maggots. One of the maggots seems to be larger, and more aggressive than the rest.
By the time the sun starts to set, all of the maggots, except the large one, are dead. Before the sun completely sets, the large maggot has started to resemble a fly. By the time the moon is climbing across the sky, the lone maggot has completely transformed into a very large fly, almost as big as a humming bird. The fly appears to have attitude (if that is even possible). It is buzzing down the middle of the road, daring anyone, or anything to get in its way.
