Zombie Day Care: Impact Series - Book 1

by Craig Halloran

  “Whew!” he said, while looking around, “Where’s Tori!?”

  CHAPTER 30

  As Jimmy sat there he couldn’t believe they were all okay, after all of his planning. He guzzled another beer as he watched all of them escape a certain death. He knew he had them trapped, but for how long. He needed to leave. He prepared another line of cocaine. Another idea was certain to blossom; they always did. The sight of his brother’s face made him angrier by the second. The rest of the crew, trapped inside, were just as bad, always plotting, scheming and wanting to take away his glory.

  His words were almost incoherent.

  “You shall not have it.”

  He could see them trying to figure a way out, pointing and thinking out loud. The little man from India’s face was a knot of concern, while the fat guy looked like his brain was starving for ice cream. Henry pranced back and forth, the calm inside the storm, pulling them all together to plot against him. He would not let that happen.

  He took a heavy snort.

  “The glory shall be mine.”

  He rubbed his reddened nose, noticing a trickle of blood coming down over his lips. “Hate it when that happens.”

  Taking a handkerchief from his jeans pocket he placed it over his nose and leaned his head back. He needed a plan, a decision … he just had to relax. His mind was a jumbled mess; the clarity he needed to find a direction and make a choice was hard to come by.

  He imagined them escaping the facility, being on the news and taking his spotlight. He would be locked up, behind bars, and his brother would be branded the next man that saved the world. All he had to do was kill them all, leave, take the serum and footage to his conspirators, and get paid a handsome fee. That wasn’t enough; he wanted more, but that was never discussed; it was only what he wanted. He wanted to be the next Nate McDaniel, and that wouldn’t happen while his brother lived. Now his strength was returning, and the sweat of alcohol began to seep from his pores like fumes of clean ideas. Opening his bloodshot eyes he watched the men on the screens. His now brilliant mind hatched another devious plan. Another fit of theatrical laughter passed as he prepared for his next move. His voice was dry as ice as he said, “Yee-hah.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “Sentient,” he whispered.

  Henry brushed his bangs from his glasses as he watched the footage on the monitor. Weege was fidgeting at his side, while Rudy kept pressing his index finger on the screen.

  “Stop touching my screen, dammit,” Weege said, smacking the hairy knuckled hand. “I hate it when you do that. Why do you do that?”

  Rudy became defensive. “Do you think that really matters now—whether or not I touch your screen—when a zombie is about to come up here and eat your fragment of a brain?”

  “Okay, cut it out you two. We need to plan, not bicker.”

  They weren’t getting anywhere fast. He’d seen Tori strapped and stabilized to a table and it slammed into his soul. She didn’t deserve this; no one did. He felt responsible for it all; he always did. Her expression was peaceful as he held her soft face in his hands, apologizing over and over again. He sobbed inside the madness, trying to remember why he had ever gotten into all of this. His girlfriend had one arm, and he supposed if Stanley could still love his undead mother, he could love a one-armed woman. His dad and brother were another concern. He had no idea where they might be. There was no doubt that Jimmy had caused all of this. And small surprise, either..

  He looked again at Nate McDaniel's text. CPWWSZH. WHS … World Humanitarian Society? Z … Zombie? He remembered a link Nate had texted moons ago. He scrolled back and opened it up. He broke out in a cold sweat.

  “Can’t be,” he murmured.

  He had skimmed the article. He always did that much, but he had neglected to give it any serious thought. Now, with the death of his friend, things seemed to be more... realistic. Inside the article were the other three letters, WPC. It can’t be can it? WPC … World Population Control. It would explain why China was one of the first nations to fall. Nate had prevented it from going much further. Wow! Henry chose to keep that information to himself and move on.

  The cracking thunder, driving rain and howling winds did little to cover the sound of Louie hammering at the hatch and moaning, “Numma! Numma! Numma!”

  The boy’s voice and pounding fists became stronger by the minute. At any moment he was certain the boy would burst through and life would end.

  The facility had been poorly designed, without considering the needs of the staff. They had to rely on cell phones and an old intercom phone system to communicate between the various offices. A fifty-year-old government building had modern technology jammed inside and nothing ever worked the way it should have. Getting people inside to fix it was nearly impossible, and for the most part, out of the question. They were supposed to add an elevator and a fire escape leading to the top observation room, but the funding ran out first. They were supposed to do lots of things, but it never happened. The facility wasn’t designed to be a secret lab that housed zombies. They were forced to make do with what they had.

  The phone rang and rang on the other end every time he tried to contact Stanley in the lab. His step dad almost never answered the phone, though. He said he never heard it; his mind was always busy. Deep inside, Henry felt something wrong had happened below, but he held out hope.

  The failure of both cell phone and land line service squashed the chance of anyone coming to help them, and possible flooding at the bottom of the hills would make things worse if anyone did come. No, they were forgotten for the time being, meant only to fend for themselves. He looked up at the windows, high like an old church, shaking like a tuning fork. On a good day the windows bathed the room in welcome sunlight, but now they were dark and filled with flashes of lightning, some too close for comfort. Those better hold.

  “Guys, we have to get out of here, I have a plan,” Henry said as they gathered around.

  “Well, what is it? “Rudy asked.

  “We need to trap Louie, like the others. We’ll use the dog snares.”

  The little man objected, hands flailing in the air saying, “We need to kill him and get the hell out of here! How is a doggy thing going to help?”

  Rudy rolled his eyes.

  “See those poles over there?” Henry pointed at the wall on the other side, “they are what dog catchers use for rabid dogs. They have a noose you flip over the neck to snare them. It’s real easy.”

  Rudy was shaking his bushy head saying, “Henry, he’s awful strong. I don’t think we can hold him. He about busted that hatch off the hinges. We should try to kill him, it’s the only way.”

  Henry wanted that more than anything, the truth be told, but deep inside he felt killing a child, even though it was undead, was wrong. Now that Louie had just shown them a radical transformation in behavior, the death of another zombie child was even harder to justify. If sound scared Louie, could he feel pain, too? The scientist inside him had to find out. He had to know. Was Stanley that close to curing the zombies, or was this something else?

  “No, we can’t kill him. Not now. He’s just a zombie, we can outsmart him. Rudy, suit up, were going down.”

  His friend's chin dropped into his chest with a heavy sigh.

  Little Weege grabbed him by his lab coat.

  “I have an idea! Maybe we just need more zombie dew?”

  They all looked at each other, Rudy’s eyes holding the most interest, staring at him for the chance.

  “Hmmm,” Henry said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe he hasn’t been fed, maybe Jimmy starved him. Do we have any?”

  Rudy’s voice was flat.

  “It’s all downstairs.”

  They all looked down over the rail as if it were an abyss. Rudy snapped his fingers.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, running over to Ralph’s station. He picked up his red 64-ounce Big Chug cup and said, “It’s still got over half a tank. Maybe more …” He shook another half d
ozen empty cups sitting on the desk. “Nope, these are all gone.”

  Henry took the 64-ounce cup and folded its waxy top closed. Standing by the rail of the catwalk, he leaned over the ladder chute, eyeing the floor twenty feet below. The catwalk was shaking beneath his feet as Louie pounded away. He held the cup over the rail as his friends tried to guide his aim.

  “A little further,” Rudy said.

  “Back to the left,” said Weege.

  “No—up to the right.”

  He glared at them, took simple aim, and dropped it.

  Plop!

  The cup landed flush on its bottom and they could see liquid splashing up and out, dripping down the cup's side. The top had flipped open, but it was still upright.

  “Great shot Bawk!” Rudy said.

  Now they waited, and the pounding still came, second after second, minute after … it stopped. Something was climbing back down the ladder and they saw Louie fall to the ground with a thud. The boy was on his knees, sniffing the air.

  “Wow, he’s sniffing.” Henry felt an odd sense of delight.

  The boy began licking the drops off the colorful mat, and he snatched up the cup. Louie opened his mouth, wide like a bass fish, bringing a gasp from his audience, then stuffed the cup inside and chomped down with a squish. Henry could hear his heart thumping inside his chest. They all shouted as Louie began walking around; a good bit slower than before, his hunger apparently satisfied.

  “Yeah Louie!” Rudy said.

  “Don’t get too excited. We don’t know how long this will last,” Henry said. “Wake up Tori. We have to get out of here. I’m going for more dew,” he said.

  “I’m going too,” he felt a delicate hand on his shoulder. It was Weege.

  “Thanks Weege, but I’ve seen you run,” he patted the man on the head, “a one-legged zombie could catch you.”

  Rudy piped in.

  “If a clam could run, then that’s what it looks like when you run.” They all let out an awkward laugh, but the room felt empty.

  “Watch my back,” he said, heading across the catwalks. As he opened another hatch, his heart raced. He was almost to the bottom when he realized he had forgotten his zombie-proof suit. Crap! He moved faster, dropping down like a cat, forgetting his swollen ankle and busted toes, falling to the floor.

  “Ow!” he cried, momentarily forgetting where he was.

  He staggered up, turning around. He didn’t see or hear the zombie boy. He crept toward the storage room, opened the door and headed inside. He grabbed a few bottles of the zombie dew from the shelves and twisted off a few caps. He grabbed a small bowl. I’ve just got to lure him into a cell and we can get out of here.

  “Piece of cake,” he said.

  As he turned to leave, there was the barrel of a shotgun, pointed in his face.

  “Not so fast … Brother.”

  Jimmy wore a full anti-zombie suit and had a shaking gun in his hands.

  “So Henry, you think you figured a way out. I don’t think so. Drop the dew!”

  Henry could smell rotten teeth and alcohol coming from the face of the mesh mask. He almost gagged. His cranked up brother was up to something he couldn’t begin to imagine. He set down the drinks and held his palms up, praying his fool of a brother wouldn’t pull the trigger. The shotgun was different from the one he left behind, jamming the door. Jimmy had come prepared.

  He tried to sound calm, “What’s going on Jimmy? Why are you doing this?”

  “Shut up!”

  He saw his friends looking down at him in horror, and he saw Louie coming his way. His brother seemed uncertain and tore off his mask, getting a better look around. Louie had moved on. He looked at his brother's distorted face; dried blood covered the edges of his nose and descended down over his puffy lips. Jimmy’s head was greasy and flaked, and his pupils were like black marbles.

  “I’ll do the talking Brother! Tell your stooges to come down here, or I’ll blow a hole in you!” Jimmy lowered the weapon on his gut.

  “Jimmy, listen to me. Louie might attack any minute. We have to leave. Where is Dad?”

  His brothers eyes lit up, his face full of panic and regret. Henry knew at that moment Stanley was dead. It made him angry, angrier than he had ever been.

  “Ole Stan was shot! It was an accident! Mom did it!” Confusion seemed to mix with fear in Jimmy’s eyes, but they regained their wicked intent.

  “Stan’s serum is mine! I’ll be saving the world, just like Nate McDaniel, and you won’t stop me!” His shrill voice resounded from the hard walls of the room. It caught everyone’s attention, including the creepy boy who was coming their way.

  “Watch out Jimmy!”

  His brother turned just in time to see the boy clutching at his back.

  KA-BOOM!

  It sounded like a cannon went off inside of the facility. As it blasted into the floor, Louie ran, wailing like a frightened swine. Henry leapt onto his brother's back and drove him to the floor. Without even realizing it, he had his hands around his brother’s neck, squeezing his eyes from the sockets. His brother couldn’t muster a sound as his tongue strained from his mouth. The word please, seemed to escape from Jimmy’s lips, as reason somehow overcame Henry’s animal instinct to kill. He pulled back his arm and punched his brother in the face with a powerful smack, stinging his hand. He did it a few more times and Jimmy lay out cold.

  Henry had forgotten everything at that moment. He fought to regain his breath. Someone was screaming and someone else was approaching. He dived for the shotgun, whirled around and blasted it in the air. The boy crouched down, moaning like a frightened animal, and then came his way again, nightmarish and unyielding. Henry remembered Louie tearing apart the rubber ball. His legs turned numb.

  He let another blast go into one of the television screens. The boy didn’t crouch this time as he came on, an angry look in his gothic face. He doesn’t like the sound. He didn’t have a choice now, it was him or Louie. The zombie boy crept forward, hands clutching, as Henry lowered the barrel at the boy’s face. Sorry Louie. He pulled the trigger. Click! — Crap! He threw the gun at the boy and ran for the drinks. Louie picked up the gun and beat it on the ground, bending the barrel. Henry saw the bottles on the floor, he could hear voices from above telling him to run and he dared not look back. He jumped over his prone brother, tripped over something and fell flat as a stone. Someone had his leg. Louie! He turned back and saw his brother’s pummeled face.

  He kicked away, stretching for a bottle of the juice. An open bottle was just inches from his grasp. He looked back and saw Louie coming back their way.

  “Jimmy let go! He’s coming!”

  His brother looked back, still determined to hold him fast. “I’ve got a suit, you don’t Brother. He’s gonna eat your brains—not mine!”

  There was no time. Henry drew his leg back and kicked Jimmy hard in the nose with a loud crack. He was free, low crawling back for the bottle, grabbing it in his hand. He tossed it like a grenade into the charging boy’s path. A lanky hand snatched the bottle from the air, his brother’s beady red eyes intent to reverse his plan. He watched as his brother drew his arm back, liquid sloshing on his suit. Louie crashed into him with his full weight. The drink spilled all over both of them as they thrashed over the bottle.

  “Get off me! Get off me!”

  Jimmy screamed and kicked, fighting to free himself from the zombie. The struggle was violent and fast. Henry didn’t know what to do. Jimmy faded under the boy’s power, trying to crawl away. Louie now clutched the bottle, stuffing it in his throat, sucking the liquid deep inside his belly.

  “No! NOOO!” Jimmy screamed, holding a bloody gash where his ear had been bitten off.

  Jimmy ran wailing, out of the room and through the security door. Louie was walking listlessly around the room, ignoring several open bottles on the floor. Henry’s friends were staring at him in awe from above. Tori stood on weakened legs supported by his friends.

/>   “Come on, we’ve got to go!” he said, waving for them to come down.

  CHAPTER 32

  Jimmy’s blood was turning cold, but sweeping through him like a fever, and his vision became obscured. Clutching the gash where his ear had been, he screamed all the way down the corridor and ducked into the security room.

  The monitors were blurry as he tried to locate his brother. He wanted to shut them back inside, just like before. His fingers were numb and he couldn’t find the keys as he slammed down the keyboard. He grabbed the briefcase, felt for the latches and tore them open. He had the syringe in hand and jabbed it into one of the corks of the XT Serum. Drawing out every drop he could, he jammed the long needle deep into his neck and plunged the fluid in, screaming in agony. He fell down, crushing the flask.

  His heart pounded with a rush of adrenaline as he lay on the floor, in agony. His veins from head to toe were streams of electricity. He lay still one long moment. His vision began to return, but his limbs became stiff and strong. Rising from the floor, he groaned and shoved everything he needed in the case and latched it. He saw a glimpse of himself reflecting off the stainless steel walls. He was tall and rangy, with a busted nose, bloody chin and rising blue veins. He licked his lips and rubbed his face. If this is what being undead felt like, it felt pretty good. It felt great. But how long would it last? He would worry about that later.

  He headed toward the back security door on legs of steel. He scanned his card and went out into the driving rain. He couldn’t feel the wind or hail tearing into his face. A tree had fallen nearby, crushing the chain link fence before him. He could see a swarm of black vehicles blocked by another tree in the distance. Armed men in black were swarming out and heading inside. He had to run and hide. Or did he? He hid in the darkness of the storm as they all passed by. A lone man stood outside in the rain, watching the vehicles, somehow smoking a cigarette. Jimmy fought the urge to eat the man whole as he snuck behind him.

  The man turned on him, shotgun level at his head. He was small, wearing dark sunglasses, with a black moustache and jutting lower lip. The man’s southern voice was deep as a river.

  “Whatcha doin’ Zombie?”