Weinberg paid particular attention to treadmill number six. The poor man struggled to keep up with the pace, yet for whatever reason, he dared not reduce the speed to ease his suffering. Mike was acutely aware that the man was afraid of Weinberg. He knew that any second, the man would collapse in a heap. Weinberg took a step closer toward him. Sweat poured off the man’s face, neck and arms. Then his legs could no longer cope with the strain, they buckled and the man crashed hard on the rubber mill, banging his head as he hit the ground. He lay there, panting for every breath his lungs could inspire.
Not a single one of his running mates seemed to notice, or if they had they didn’t care, they simply carried on running.
Weinberg snapped his fingers and two of the strange black-clad freaks emerged as if from nowhere and dragged the man out by his torso.
‘Where are they taking him?’ Nestor asked.
‘Somewhere he can be more useful!’ Weinberg walked to the free weights section.
This was where most of the men were gathered, probably around thirty of them. Mike observed how once again, the mood changed as Weinberg approached. It was absurd how fully grown men would flex their muscles as if trying to impress the man who watched on and gave his approval. The noise was repressing too. The grunts of men lifting, that were barely audible over by the treadmills, were now on full blast. It was as though they were putting on a show for Weinberg. One man stared at his own guns, to Weinberg, back to his guns and then back to Weinberg as he carried out bicep curls with a large barbell. He puffed out his cheeks with every upward motion of the bar and Mike expected the vein in his forehead to burst.
‘Very good, very good!’ Weinberg approved the man’s efforts and returned his attention to Mike and Nestor. ‘This way gentleman, I’ll show you to where you’ll be staying.’
They walked through a number of corridors emerging outside then crossed a long open courtyard which betrayed several buildings teeming with activity. The whole place didn’t add up, but as a journalist in a former life, Mike felt it his duty to discover the truth. Mike had already mourned for his family. He’d come to the realization that his wife, son and daughter were probably dead, just like everybody else. But he would not rest until he knew for sure. He ached to get back to Ohio. But first, he would need to escape this nut house and that would not be easy.
As they walked, it occurred that those black-clad abominations were everywhere. One such abomination stood out, for he was so fat that his belly popped out from below his black jacket, dripping over his waistband. He guarded a large steel door built into a brick wall. Whatever lay behind that steel door was important.
They entered what Mike knew to be an old barracks building. A central corridor ran along the spine of the interior, each side containing over a hundred rooms. Eventually the group arrived at a vacant cell with an open door.
‘This is where you’ll be staying.’ Weinberg gestured for the two men to enter the room.
‘Or else what?’ Nestor asked, speaking to the air above Weinberg’s head.
‘Or else nothing. There is nowhere else you can go. You’ve seen the outside world, there is nothing left.’ Weinberg laughed, dismissing the big man.
‘Hey, I have just one question…’ Mike asked Weinberg, ‘…It’s just a tiny, little, minute detail, but I thought, what the heck, I may as well just come out and ask, since I might not get the opportunity to ask again.’
‘Will you just spit it out!’
‘Where the fuck are all the women?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You know, women! Although by the way men around here look at you, I’m thinking you don’t have much need for them, but you know, I’m just slightly curious. If this place is where all the survivors are being kept, then where the fuck are all the women?’
Weinberg laughed. ‘There are no women! I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Mike wanted to grab the wretched man and beat the answer from him, but then a number of those freaks began shuffling along further up the corridor.
Weinberg handed Mike and Nestor a small plastic container each. ‘You will both fill these with a sample of your semen.’
‘Fuck you!’ Nestor shouted as he grabbed Weinberg by the collar.
‘Argh, help me, help me!’ Weinberg begged to the creeps who now pointed their semi-automatics at Nestor and Mike.
Mike grabbed his friend’s arm, ‘Settle down, his time will come.’
Nestor let go of the man as they were both shoved into their small room. The interior was all white, a bed either side and a plasma TV screen on the wall. There was nothing else, not even a window.
‘If you don’t produce a sample within five minutes, you will be shot!’ Weinberg assured them as he walked into the room with several of the decay stinking freaks, closing the door behind them.
Nine
Sarah watched through the fence as the Guardians drove away over the hill with another pair of errant zombies loaded in the back seats.
Thankfully, this morning Sarah had already been awake and so they’d not disturbed her slumber.
She continued to look through her window and saw the blacked out vehicle parked opposite. She first noticed it when she arrived back from Karen’s house right before she left for the afterlife. Now, nearly two weeks later, the strange vehicle was still parked there. She couldn’t see inside from her house and so she had no idea if there was anybody in the vehicle, or whether it had simply been abandoned. She thought about going for a closer look, but the last thing she wanted was to risk upsetting the Guardians.
She had made her apologies to Molly a few days after their argument and together they’d welcomed Karen’s replacement to her new home. A sixteen year old girl named Cheryl had arrived from the school district. She was likable, very sweet and funny. She did though speak extremely fast and Sarah had to ask her numerous times to breathe, take some oxygen and slow down. Cheryl apologized in the typically naïve way of a new girl and Sarah had recognized some of herself in her.
Cheryl explained that she wasn’t usually so giddy. She wondered if the hormone treatment she’d received at the insemination clinic had given her some kind of a reaction.
‘It’s possible honey!’ Molly said to her with a reassuring hand on the arm. ‘Fertility drugs can affect us all in different ways. I remember my vision used to cloud up the first time I was given my injection.’
Today, Molly was due to deliver her second litter. It was not permitted for friends to be present at the delivery clinic while the litter was being birthed but Sarah had promised she’d be waiting at Molly’s house when she returned. Such days were always emotional and Sarah knew that Molly would be in need of a big hug upon her return home. Surely the Guardians would return her soon.
Sarah consumed an iron capsule and looked through the window. Oh my, but that blacked out vehicle was there. It had followed her to Molly’s. She froze and felt her arm quivering. Why was she being watched? Were they listening in on her conversations also?
While Sarah had walked to Molly’s house, the occasion of the day had forced her into deep thought. She recalled the three litters she’d birthed, the pain she went through and the numbness she felt.
The first two occasions she had birthed four and five offspring respectively. She remembered how happy she had been for doing her duty to the Guardians and how she was securing her passage to the afterlife.
Her last birthing had not been so smooth. She had no idea why at the time, but she’d taken the drugs she was given, placed them in her mouth and pretended to swallow. When Doctor Goldberg left the room, she had then thrown the pills out the window.
Sarah remembered every detail about her third birthing. How Goldberg had birthed six in the litter. How she’d taken each of her offspring, left the room with them and returned empty handed. She remembered the pain. But most of all she remembered what she felt and would forever feel. The strange feeling of attachment she had for her litter.
She had wanted to see them, to hold them, if only for a few minutes. That the opportunity to even smell their skin was denied had raised many questions in her mind. Yet the Book of the Guardian stated that under no circumstances should one question the birthing process, the most important duty of all in Clinton County. The birthing process was sacrosanct and could not be questioned. For those who even spoke about it would be taken away by the Guardians.
Sarah placed her hand on her belly, her fourth litter, due within a few short weeks. Now, she longed to know what happened to her other litters. Where were those girls?
She knew having these thoughts placed her life in danger, but she didn’t care. The feeling of love she had never experienced in her life flowed through her. It was love for the litter that grew inside her.
The Guardians were wrong! These feelings felt so natural. How could they be right while her feelings were wrong?
A vehicle rolled down the road and then Molly stepped out, exhausted she walked toward the door.
‘Hey, now, you just lie down and let me get you a drink.’ Sarah opened the door for her and helped her into the living room. ‘If you feel like crashing out then I don’t mind stopping over.’
‘You’re a life saver, honey.’ Molly was worn out and weak, but beaming. ‘Two down, two to go and then paradise.’
‘How many did you birth?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure, they didn’t say.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they give you pills?’
‘Of course, to help the pain.’
‘How many pills?’
‘Two before and I think two afterwards, but I really don’t remember.’
‘That’s not how I remember things working.’
‘Well I’m sure they have their reasons.’ Molly lay down on the sofa with Sarah’s assistance. ‘I could really go for a glass of water.’
‘Hey, Molly, do you ever wonder what happens to the litters?’
Molly yawned and placed a hand to her forehead. ‘Never really thought about it much, honey, they just fulfill their destiny.’
Sarah went to fetch her friend some water. As she turned the faucet, she felt a distinct kick from within. Her fourth and final litter were announcing their presence and Sarah placed her hand where she felt a tiny foot pressing against her. She could feel it. But she also felt an unconditional love and a natural instinct to protect at all costs. This natural instinct went against everything she had been taught.
They were wrong – Her litter would be birthed soon and they would not have them.
Ten
The day after their arrival, Doctor Weinberg had rushed into Mike and Nestor’s cell in a state of excitement, as always, he was accompanied by several black-clad abominations.
During the night, Mike and Nestor had discussed their options with regards to the best course of action to take concerning their involuntary incarceration. Mike wanted to wait it out and discover what the camp was truly about. Perhaps it was the only place in all of South America that was still safe, even if it seemed to be run by a raving fruit loop.
Nestor on the other hand wanted to rush Weinberg the second they had the opportunity. Then he hoped they could take down a few freaks, steal some weapons, scale the perimeter and within a few days be over the border and into Colombia.
Mike had won his friend over by appealing to his sense of curiosity. ‘Our friends died! Don’t you want to find out what for? Don’t you want to know what’s going down here?’
However, when Weinberg entered their cell, his crooked teeth gleaming with excitement, Mike was nevertheless nervous his erratic friend would do something stupid, something that was not part of the plan.
Weinberg beamed, waving a clipboard at the two men. ‘I will require more samples, lots more samples.’
That was when Nestor charged at the man, pinning him against the wall by the throat. Mike saw the discomfort in Weinberg’s face as it turned red. Unfortunately though, Nestor received a rifle butt in the back of the head for his rash stupidity. When he came to several hours later, he was forced to give a sample nonetheless, albeit this time with the headache from hell.
As the weeks past they realized they really were prisoners. They were put into a routine which they had no choice other than to humor. Whenever they complained or deviated, they received some form of physical retribution. While the place was not run like a typical South American prison, retribution was often tough for those who fell out of favor.
Their lives consisted of working out in the gym, taking all manners of supplementation, watching the most obscene propaganda in their cells and of course they were forced, often at gunpoint to provide as much semen as their bodies could produce. This often proved difficult for two reasons; One, the lack of privacy within their tiny cell. Two, the absence of visual aids.
Mike asked Weinberg for some porn magazines, only the reply he’d received was quite puzzling. Weinberg had no idea what Mike was talking about with regards to “women” or “girls.”
Mike wondered if he was truly going insane in this nut house. Then later on that evening, a movie had been screened that was about men building a new civilization on a desert island. Halfway through the film, several children, all boys, had been created and had entered the civilization via a boat from the ocean. Nature had given birth to them and suddenly there they were. Not a single female had been cast in the entire diabolical film.
Weeks turned to months. They would sit through many more ridiculous films that nearly always cast the same actors, were always shot on a shoestring budget and had the appearance of being made by amateurs.
Then they had seen younger boys arrive in the camp, boys who were perhaps in their early or mid-teens. Mike worried the propaganda and lies they would doubtless be exposed to would be seen as the truth by these young and impressionable youths. Besides, where had these new guys come from?
Mike tried to speak to them in the gym to gain some answers, only this had attracted the attention of the ever present and completely uptight black-clad mutants.
While on the treadmill, Mike noticed that for every new guy that arrived, one of the older guys had simply vanished. They ceased arriving at the gym to train and neither would they be seen around the entire prison.
Mike and Nestor discussed their theories about what they had jokingly named The Republic of Chavez, or simply Chavez for short. Nestor merely insisted that Weinberg was a deluded homosexual and was probably making soap from all the semen.
Mike dismissed this idea. ‘That doesn’t explain the electrified fencing, the killing of our friends, the secrecy and those weird aberrations everywhere.’
‘I’m telling you, Mike, he’s making soap. There’s a huge gay community in Caracas.’
‘There’s nobody left in Caracas!’
‘Good point.’
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently.’
‘Uh huh?’
‘I think the answer lies through that steel door in the west courtyard.’
‘I know which one you mean.’
‘As a journalist and a nosey bastard human, I need to see what’s through there.’
‘It’s your funeral.’
‘I think the answer to everything lies through that door.’
‘You think?’
‘And possibly an escape too.’
‘Now I’m with you.’
‘You are?’
‘Honestly, what do you think this place is?’
‘I think there are women through that steel door. I think they are using our semen to inseminate those women in an attempt to repopulate the country.’
Nestor thought about it for a second, sat back on his bed then unleashed an almighty laugh. Tears streamed down the big man’s face. ‘I think I’d go insane in here without you, my friend.’
‘I’m serious!’
‘And that’s why it’s so funny. I think my soap theory is more plausible.’
‘We’ll see
…I’m going to find a way in there.’
Nestor calmed down, regained his composure, became serious. ‘Listen to me, my friend, listen good, because this advice will save your life. I’ve lived my entire life in this country, but it’s the same in all countries, I can guarantee you this.’ He looked hard at Mike, having built his words up to a crescendo, he wanted his next words to be effective. ‘A free thinker is dangerous.’
Mike sat back and placed his head against the wall. He considered the words and stared blankly at Nestor. ‘In this country perhaps.’
‘In all countries my friend.’
‘Not in the United States, my friend.’
‘Especially in the United States, my friend! Your blind and misguided patriotism is commendable, but your loyalty should belong to your people, not with your government.’
‘Sounds like you’re the free thinker here, my friend.’
‘Which is why I keep my mouth shut. And I suggest you do the same, if you want to live.’
Mike worried the months in Chavez had changed Nestor and that he was losing the will to escape.
The months turned to years. Mike noticed even more guys being replaced by younger, seemingly more fertile young men. Where they came from, he couldn’t tell. But he knew that one day, pretty soon, he’d be the next guy to disappear.
One night, Mike dreamed about his family back in Ohio. The visions of his daughter, Sarah, were the most vivid and real. Then, for no real reason at all, that day while working out in the gym, he unclipped the weights from each end of a dumbbell and removed the steel bar. He casually walked out from the gym, strolled through the courtyard and emerged in the west square. As he approached the large steel door, a solitary fat black-clad freak guarded it. The semi-automatic rifle was lowered, but no shots came. It was as though the power which threatened the people was all a big illusion, that toppling that power would not be hard if enough people rose up. When Mike was within arms distance, he caved the freaks skull in with the steel pipe. He rummaged through the pockets and found the keys, also taking the rifle. Behind him, footsteps stumbled in his direction. He fumbled with the keys, finally unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Zombie Revolution Page 14
