by Mark Tufo
“A ball check? You’re calling the shit you do a ‘ball check?’ And what the hell does ‘from time to time’ mean? It’s every time. And, oh yeah, I’m in,” BT said.
“You had to go through all of that shit just to say you’re in?” I asked.
“Whenever there is an opportunity to give you a hard time, it’s guaranteed I’m going to do it. That’s in my nature.”
“There’s a part of me that appreciates when you do things like this, Lieutenant,” Winters started, “but you’re also the commanding officer here. I’m going to do whatever you say we’re going to do. I’d rather not hear an option.”
That was something I could understand. When you had choices, you could think yourself into circles about what was the right thing to do or whether you’d made a bad choice. But if you were told what to do, it took the responsibility off of your shoulders; it was actually easier, even if what you had to do was distasteful. Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t want anyone blindly following my lead or my orders, but yeah, there is something comforting about it.
“I’m your big brother; someone has to look out for you.” Gary was a hundred percent serious, even added a bit of the Gambo inflection to make his point.
“Tommy?” I prodded; he was the only one that had been abundantly quiet.
“If we have an opportunity to stop her before she does anything cataclysmic, I’m all for it.” He was staring at the screen, and though it was tough to discern because of the lack of light, I would say he was laser-focused on that off-color blip that signified Payne.
“Alright. BT, you and I are taking the direct approach. Winters, Gary, Tommy, I want you heading in here. This looks like a door–if it’s not, make one. Let me know though, because I’ll want to adjust our timeline. We need to be synched-up perfectly or she could escape. Let’s do a radio check.” I was paranoid about military equipment and always had my squad check that everything was functioning before I deployed anyone out. I almost lost one of my privates on our very first mission. Grimm had gone to take a crap in a port-a-potty away from where we had rallied. Not sure why anyone would want to use one of those this far into the apocalypse; it was highly likely that the second wave of death was going to spring forth from those blue devils.
Anyway, he had no sooner dropped his trousers and planted his ass on the seat when multiple hands had reached up and tried to pull him down. He tried to call us on his radio for help, but the unit itself was broken. If it hadn’t of been for Springer following him over to take a leak, Grimm might have been dragged down into that portable cesspool and never heard from again. Not sure who had thought to dispose of live zombies in that stink-pudding quagmire, but if I ever found them, odds were I was going to sink them as well. All’s well that ends well. Now Grimm always makes sure he takes care of his bodily functions either before we leave or real close to wherever we are, although, that’s gotten a little old. It seems he always has to take a solid and usually moves upwind. Come to think of it, I might need to talk to him.
“Check, check.” Winters broke me out of my tangential thought.
“Gotcha,” BT replied.
“Ready?” I looked at everyone.
Terse nods all around, except for Gambo, who was busy putting black stripes on his face; they looked more like cat whiskers, but I wasn’t going to wreck his psych-up. We moved quietly together for a little bit until the building came into view. With a hand signal, I motioned for the trio to move toward the back of the building. The football field ahead was glowing as the water droplets in the air reflected and refracted the plethora of light striking them. Our desire to see this giant searchlight increased as we got closer; I had an inkling of the dilemma moths must suffer. We stayed away, though; all that was there were zombies, and we’d seen enough of them for a few lifetimes. Although, if I’m being honest, I’d seen enough vampires for a few lifetimes as well.
“Found a way in,” Winters said through my earpiece.
“How far are you from the main room?” I answered through my throat microphone. The beauty of those was you could practically think your response and the person on the other end could hear you loud and clear.
“Twenty seconds. Fifteen if Sergeant Talbot finishes applying his make-up.”
“Copy,” I replied. BT was keeping tabs of the time elapsed on his watch, which would have looked like a clock on any of our wrists.
He tapped my shoulder when it was time to go. I turned the door handle; it made no sound. I had expected there to be some light inside, then I remembered the facts of our prey. I turned my flashlight on. The first thing it played across was a group of zombies in various stages of dismemberment. A slightly longer look made me think of a long-ago biology class in high school and television shows about autopsies.
“What the fuck?” came out involuntarily; at least it was quiet.
Three rifle lights illuminated from the other side. We had an effective lead sandwich; now we just needed some meat in between to make it complete. When I saw the zombie pile ahead of us, I had a flashback to Fritzy–if someone had jumped out of the shadows in a fucking catsuit I would have either gone shrieking into the night or unloaded all seven of my magazines into him. I tracked my light up onto the roof; no telling where Payne was.
“Mr. T…room off to your left.” Tommy had the ZAD.
“Anyone else in here?” I asked before I attempted to move in on the other room.
“Nothing,” Winters replied.
“Gary, you watch our six. Tommy, Winters, on us.” As we went quickly to the door, rifles raised, we moved tactically, leaving plenty of room between us. Should she have a weapon or decide to attack, she could not hit more than one of us at a time. I knew in my gut we had eyes on us; something was watching our cautious approach. The only thing in question was, what was the outcome to be? We were in a semi-circle in front of that door; whatever came out was going to have a hell of a time getting past the barrage of bullets heading its way. Now came the tricky part: did we file in? I didn’t like that tactic as we would shift the advantage Payne’s way. Did I call out to her? What was the sense in that? Not like she was going to surrender; there wasn’t a chance I was going to keep her as a prisoner. I had to entice her.
“Payne? ‘Lot of fresh blood out here. You interested?” I asked.
“Seriously?” BT never looked away from the door as he questioned my words.
“You want to go in first?”
“Fresh blood?” BT echoed.
“Good evening.” A disembodied, distinctly male voice spoke loud enough to echo slightly. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”
Whoever was in there didn’t seem overly concerned that four rifles were trained in his general direction.
“That’s not Payne.” This from Tommy; needed to remember to thank him for his incredible insight.
“There’s no pain here,” he agreed. “Well, none of any consequence. And no one by that name, either, in case you were wondering.”
“Who am I speaking with?” I asked.
“Don’t you use the magic word in this realm?” the voice asked.
“How about ‘come the fuck out?’ That magic enough?” I wasn’t in the mood for games. My heart was thumping in my chest; whoever or whatever was in there wasn’t human; my body knew what my head was unwilling to grasp.
“Strangely enough, the word ‘fuck’ or its linguistic equivalent is used as an intensifier in most of the languages I know,” he mused, almost to himself. The man, and I use that word merely as a placeholder, stepped into the abundant shine our flashlights made.
“What the fuck. Everyone seeing the same thing I am?” I was looking at a person, standing in the neighborhood of six feet tall and very thin; that wasn’t overly remarkable. What was, was the full body armor he was wearing—really full; helmet, pauldrons, gauntlets–the works. Add in two swords and a cloak, of all things, and there you have him. Not that swords are inappropriate gear for a zombie apocalypse, just extremely bizarre.
In my opinion, he was sacrificing mobility, speed, and I would think, stealth.
“Do you think he raided an armor museum?” BT asked quietly.
I might have agreed, only it looked more like a dull, black plastic than metal. Maybe he ordered this from China back when the world was more normal. Probably showed up to his friend’s Dungeons and Dragons games all decked out.
“What are we even doing here?” Not sure who I asked. My finger, having a mind of its own, was slowly applying pressure to the trigger. This wasn’t right; he was too self-assured, like he knew something we didn’t. As if he figured he could end this stand-off quickly, and with us on the losing end.
“You know, I’ve often asked myself that very question, Mike. When you think about it, what are any of us doing here?” He answered so nonchalantly. He moved to a bench. I got the feeling he moved slowly so as not to provoke a bunch of excited people with guns. Not out of fear, exactly, but maybe because he was used to it. Or, I don’t know, maybe because he was humoring us. I didn’t like the feeling at all.
“Great, he’s existential.” BT was not amused. “More specifically, what are you doing here in this gym, with these zombies? Any funny answers and I might start shooting so I can get home and eat some shitty dinner that this guy’s sister, the woman that I love, prepares for me.”
“TMI, BT,” I said.
“I’m a little frustrated, man. I like my dinner. You know how many times she’s stopped me from going to the Chow Hall to eat? The food there is like fine French Cuisine compared to the stuff she puts on plates. I have had to throw dishes away because whatever she tried to cook was permanently embedded within the ceramic or metal, depending. You’re like the gift that keeps on giving, man. I already have to deal with you, and now I have to deal with your sister. It’s more than any man should be exposed to. I fully expect Sainthood when my time comes.”
Winters leaned back so he could look at me, his eyebrows arched. I shrugged a response. I would have swirled a finger near my temple if I hadn’t been pointing my rifle at a potential hostile.
“Everything all right over there?” Gary asked.
I honestly didn’t know how to reply. The person we were dealing with here was either extremely off his rocker or ultimately prepared. He didn’t seem at all bothered. In fact, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees; he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. He seemed almost intrigued. I was glad I didn’t have to make any judgment calls on him, as BT kept rolling.
“The chow hall eggs aren’t bad. The hash browns are pretty good too, and the meatloaf is really good, and I missed that last time. Want to know what your sister made? She called it lasagna. Lasagna, Mike. It was green–and not because it was a vegetable lasagna, but because she boiled the noodles in green Jell-O water. Green Jell-O water, Mike! Why? What the fuck is that all about? I had to pretend that I thoroughly enjoyed a lime-flavored lasagna. Man, no one is that good of an actor! And then, instead of hamburger in the sauce, it was tofu. Said she was concerned about my cholesterol, even though I told her that my last physical came back perfect. She said she was thinking ahead. Want to know what tofu tastes like? Gooey snots. That’s the best way to describe it. Man, look at me! I’m starving to death! I hoard candy bars when we go on these runs so I’ll have something to eat when I get back. It’s torture by Talbot!”
“Umm, right. Well, one problem at a time. And how do you know my name?” I asked of the stranger.
“Someone must have said it at one point.”
I didn’t think that was the case, but I wasn’t one who could specifically remember everything that was said to them, though the lime lasagna noodles were going to stay with me for a good long while.
“Since we’re on a first name basis, what’s yours?”
“Oh! Terrible manners on my part; I do apologize. I’ve been a bit distracted by events. My name is Eric; I’m pleased to meet you.” He stood up and offered his gauntleted-gauntlets, for fuck’s sake-hand, taking a step toward me.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Eric,” I told him. “Don’t come any closer.” His reaction had caused me to stir, as it had all of us; I figured we were real close to having an incident, and I’d yet to determine if he rated a bullet or not. “We shoot you and then I have to do a bunch of paperwork explaining why we did, or, more likely, all of us here come to an agreement that we didn’t come across anyone and then BT here can get to his raspberry eggs or whatever my sister cooks up.”
“You’re an asshole,” BT said.
“Would it help if I say I have no interest in harming any of you?” Eric responded.
“Fair enough. Can you tell me what your intentions with the zombies are?”
“Mostly honorable,” he replied, “although they don’t seem to agree.”
“Didn’t quite mean it like that; I wasn’t thinking you were taking them out on a date.”
“I know. My sense of humor is a bit off; sorry about that. No, I’ve been examining the zombies you have in this world. I’ve never seen a biological zombie before, much less witnessed mutating specialist castes. Reminds me of ants,” he finished, and shivered. The shiver was strangely reassuring. It meant he was afraid of something. Then it wasn’t reassuring, because he was afraid of something, which meant there was something worse. The part of me that could sense these things kept telling me there wasn’t anything worse, and I really wanted it to be right.
“This world?” Winters asked. “How many other worlds do you know?”
“I wouldn’t even hazard to guess.” Something like a low chuckle escaped him. “I mean, I know several personally, but I know of many, many more.” He looked thoughtful, his eyes doing the thousand-yard stare for a moment. I had the strangest feeling he was…communing or something. Not talking to someone, per se, but something like it. Consulting his memory, maybe? He was a vampire; perhaps he had a lot of memory to consult.
“No, I don’t have a definite answer for you. I used to keep a catalog, but it got lost, sort of. It’s in the billions, in any case. By the way, speaking of things I’ve lost, I don’t suppose you know where I might find a working FMRI machine, do you?”
I wasn’t going to tell him we had one at the base, not until I knew a little bit more about who I was dealing with.
“You a doctor? Biologist maybe?” I asked.
“Mr. T, remember…he’s like Payne,” Tommy replied.
“Right, right,” Winters chimed in. “When did humans become such a minority?”
“Probably at about the same time those flu shots rolled out,” Gary said.
Eric was looking intently at Tommy and then his gaze shifted toward me. “Well, isn’t that strange.” He left it at that, for the time being, anyway. “Can we put the guns down now? I’m not a fan of getting shot. We’re having such a lovely conversation, and pointing guns at people is usually considered rude.”
“Forgive my manners,” I said, “but you’re a vampire who is rounding up zombies for what I must assume are nefarious, albeit honorable, reasons. For the moment, I feel better holding this weapon on you.”
“The zombies, they have been getting smarter, yes? Yes.” I felt like an explanation was coming as he answered his own question.
“Is that observation supposed to stop me in my tracks?” I responded. “Anyone who has lived this long realizes that by now.”
“Hey, I think that’s doing pretty good, especially since I’ve only been here…” he trailed off, and again I had that feeling he was…I don’t know…consulting. Communicating. Almost talking to someone. “Eleven days? Curious. Time flies when you’re doing your due diligence.”
“Is any one else in there with you?” I motioned with my rifle toward the other room.
“Oh. No, there’s no one in there.”
“Who are you talking to, then?”
“That’s a long story. It only makes sense in the extended telling; the short version makes me sound crazy.”
“Try me.”
“I have a psychic sword and an empathic horse, although the horse is usually a statue.”
“A horse that’s a statue?”
“Right now, she’s a pickup truck. Her name is Bronze.”
“Bronze?” I felt a headache coming. “Fine. Let’s forget that for now. What are you doing with the zombies over there?”
“Ah. You don’t believe in magic?” Eric asked.
“Not since I learned how David Blaine did the levitation thing on his shows.”
His head tilted slightly. “Not an unreasonable view,” he admitted. “Loved his shows, but I was always a Copperfield fan, myself. Let me take this in another direction. Some of these zombies aren’t too physically capable, but they have a talent, a psychic ability. They scream into your mind, right?”
“Shriekers. We call them shriekers.”
“Aptly named. And the hulking creatures?”
“Bulkers, then speeders; the slow ones, those that are left, anyway, we call them deaders. They were the first wave of zombies, corpses reanimated as the viral agent takes over. That quickly changed, and we got the speeders. They never truly died; their bodies were taken over before they went through the process of rigor mortis, thus keeping all their physical abilities, their speed. The bulkers were next; we figure they were adapting well to their environment. Once the speeders started dragging down everything in sight, people began to barricade themselves in their homes.”
“Fascinating,” he said, nodding. “And then these bulkers started showing up, breaking in through the barricades, yes?”
“That’s about the way of it. Then came the shriekers to flush out those still remaining. Their signal seems to strike squarely in the flight response center of the brain. It’s almost impossible to ignore the spike without some training in the matter,” I explained.
“Your situation here is going to get worse,” Eric said matter of factly. “I can’t be completely sure without some dissection, some equipment, and perhaps a neurologist. What I think is happening is that another evolution of these beings is in progress; the development of a unified intellect; a hive-mind.” He looked to us like he knew we suspected the same.
