Aliens Versus Zombies (21 page)

* * * *

FronCar, frustrated with the escape of the indigenes who had stolen the Drahtch vehicle and killed its occupants—and perhaps were responsible for killing the squad and platoon earlier—stepped up the efforts to spread the virus far and wide. Battle pods landed throughout the continent wherever large populations of indigenes were seen, and sent out vehicles to dart as many of them as possible. Over the following weeks, the same process would take place in all the other continents as well.

The only solution to the problem of indie infestation was annihilation. The virus would take care of most of them, and soldiers would do the rest.

“Ol mack dunnel had uh farm, eeyi, eeyi, oh. An on tha farm he had sum ducks, ee-yi, ee-yi, yoh.”

“Uncle Jay! Aunt Suzi! You’re both doing so good!”

They both grinned at her.

The other three members of The Pack were sleeping in their new place. It was at the edge of town, where the golden people didn’t patrol much—yet.

The main danger in the area was from other Zoms, but most had died from the hyperallergy and the remainder were feeding on their corpses. As a result, there hadn’t been any reason for them to hunt live prey.

Soon, though, it would become a problem. And with only five adults left in The Pack, they were vulnerable.

* * * *

Viruses are technically not living organisms. Not alive, yet not exactly dead, they themselves could be considered zombies of a sort.

 Once inside a living cell, a virus acts like a parasite. It hijacks the host cell, infusing it with its own nucleic acid (RNA or DNA) in place of the original. The virus then begins to multiply, sometimes mutating into variants. Soon the cell bursts, and releases the virus into adjacent cells, beginning the cycle anew.

As Dr. ZemBleth had predicted, nearly two-thirds of the Zoms exposed to the newly modified virus died from it. As before, some suffered from lesser symptoms, and others not at all. Sixteen percent didn’t fall ill; the remaining twenty-one percent suffered at worst a mild case of allergy. ZemBleth was mistaken, however, about the effects of the virus on the “smart” indigenes—the humans who were immune to the original virus. The large majority continued to be immune to the new variant.

Those Zoms who suffered only mild symptoms developed the side effect that ZemBleth had seen in test subjects. The gene-splicing protocol he had developed to insert the Drahtch DNA into the indigene DNA wasn’t as precise as he had intended. Several unplanned minor alterations occurred as well. Most had no effect on the health of the subject.

One did.

It reactivated the biological mechanism that in fetuses causes the growth of brain tissue. The original Tibetan virus infection had done extensive damage to portions of the brain. It also compromised the “blood-brain barrier,” which prevents the movement of harmful substances from the circulatory system to the brain and keeps in the necessary brain fluids. When the brain tissue died, some of it was carried away in the bloodstream. That left lesions—holes—in the brain.

As the newly modified virus spread throughout the subject’s body, it also entered the brain. But this time, instead of damaging the brain further, the mutated DNA caused brain cells to grow, filling in the gaps. The resulting regrowth couldn’t replace all of the damaged brain tissue, but it did replace some.

The new brain cells that would grow over the next few months—replacing ten, twenty, even thirty percent of the dead cells, depending upon the Zom—were just like those in a newborn: unused, but with the potential to learn. Soon the neurons in the existing tissue would connect to those in the new cells.

The cerebral cortex, which is the seat of memory, attention, perceptual awareness, thought, language, and consciousness—and where most of the damage had occurred—began to heal.

The affected Zoms were still brain-damaged, but no longer brain-dead.

* * * *

The thirty humans who had managed to escape from the city to the barn in the countryside were stuck.

They couldn’t chance driving the SUVs in search of somewhere more permanent to live, just in case the aliens were still looking for them. But they couldn’t afford to walk to the next town, either, because it was too dangerous to be on foot with no shelter. There was no telling where the Zoms were, or how many were in the area.

On the other hand, they couldn’t stay in the barn forever. If nothing else, they needed food and water.

Daniels and his team volunteered to search the farmhouse for food and bring back water. There was danger involved in leaving the barn, but they were already going stir crazy just sitting barricaded inside the barn.

Moose pointed at a stack of apple crates leaning against the barn wall near the back. “Do you suppose they have apple trees here? I haven’t tasted a fresh apple in ages. Canned apple pie filling isn’t quite the same thing.” He licked his lips. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a juicy Macintosh right now. Mmm.”

Daniels smiled. “You and me both, brother. Unfortunately, it’s too early in the season for apples, unless you like ‘em green and sour.”

“Not hardly.”

“Let’s grab a few of the crates, anyway. We can use them to carry food back in.”

“Optimistic. I like that.”

Daniels called out to Meisner. “Geoff, make sure to secure the door when we leave, just in case.”

“Will do.”

The quartet slipped through the door and jogged toward the house, forty yards away.

When they’d arrived the previous evening, they saw the broken windows and knew the house wouldn’t be safe to stay in, but they hadn’t actually gotten any closer to it than the gravel driveway leading up to the barn, beyond and to the left of the house. In the twilight after the storm, with the big oak tree hanging over it, the house had looked menacing, almost spooky.

Today, in the bright sunlight, it looked charming, if obviously decrepit. The shutters were painted a faded cherry red, and tattered gingham curtains flapped in the gentle breeze behind the shattered glass. Two rocking chairs on the front porch seemed to be possessed by ghosts as the gusts intermittently pushed them back and forth.

Chrissy smiled at the image. “If you squint a bit, it almost looks like a picture postcard of rural America, doesn’t it?”

Daniels smiled back. “Yeah, too bad it isn’t as peaceful as it looks.”

They walked up the front steps to the front door, which had been kicked in. The door had splintered around the lock and, like the chairs, swayed in the breeze.

Jesse went in first, shotgun at the ready.

The living room was to the right and the dining room to the left. The TV had been knocked over and smashed, and there were leaves and debris everywhere, but otherwise the living room was reasonably intact, as was the dining room.

The kitchen, behind the dining room, was another matter. Cupboards were open and mostly empty. Dishes and torn food boxes lay on the floor. Clearly, animals had gotten into the boxes, as there were droppings all over. If there had been canned, jarred, and bottled goods in the kitchen, they were gone now.

“Split up,” Daniels ordered. “Look for a pantry, or closet, or anywhere else that might have food or anything else we can use. Maybe there’s a storm cellar or root cellar out back.”

“You got it, boss,” Moose said. He went out back, while Jesse went upstairs. Chrissy stayed in the kitchen and Daniels checked out the dining/living room area.

It didn’t take long to find something.

“Well, looky there,” Daniels called out. “Behind the front door is a gun rack. Two shotguns, two hunting rifles, and a couple boxes of shells. Those’ll come in handy. Anyone else find anything useful?”

“I did,” Jesse called from upstairs. “We can’t eat it, but there’s some clothes up here that’ll surely fit someone. I know a lot of us are getting pretty threadbare.”

“Good work. Bring down what you can carry. Hey, Chrissy, are there any plastic garbage bags in the kitchen? If so, give those to Jesse to put clothes in.”

“You got it, Chick.”

“I’ll go check on Moose. But first…”

He ripped the gun rack off the wall and laid it on the floor. He knew he’d have trouble breaking the locking bar that kept the guns secured, but there was usually more than one way to skin the proverbial cat. First he tried stomping on the wooden rack, and when that didn’t work, he used the butt of his own rifle, after ejecting the chambered round. It took a few solid hits before the wood began to splinter. Three more and the frame shattered. Then it was a simple matter of pulling the rack apart to get the guns out. He leaned the guns against the wall on the opposite side of the door, carried the shells into the kitchen, and placed them inside one of the apple crates that Moose had set on the counter.

He opened the back door and looked outside for Moose. At first he saw nothing, but then movement caught his eye. A shadow extended beyond the right corner of the house. He debated calling out, but decided not to. If it wasn’t Moose there was no sense alerting whoever or whatever it was.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he approached with caution. Two paces before the corner, he stopped. Then he stepped forward and swung the gun to his right, ready to fire.

“Whoa there, boss. Don’t shoot; it’s just me.”

Daniels slumped in relief and lowered the barrel until it pointed at the ground. “Damn, Moose. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He held up a fistful of dirty carrots. “This garden is pretty overrun, but there’s potatoes here, too, and radishes. Do me a favor and get one of those crates? I need something to put it all in. Man, fresh veggies. Yum!”

Daniels chuckled. “Sure. Be right back.”

He walked back to the rear entrance and went inside. He had to put down his rifle to pick up the crate. The sound of first one and then another shot from a pistol came from out back.

He dropped the crate and grabbed his rifle. “Chrissy! Jesse! Out back!” He ran to the door and crashed through it with his shoulder. “Moose! You, okay?” He reached the corner of the house within a few seconds, and again swung the barrel of the rifle to his right, ready to kill anything that moved, as long as it wasn’t Moose.

“I’m-I’m okay, dude. Just a little shaken up.”

Moose lay on his back, with a Zom on top of him.

“I don’t know where the hell he came from. He managed to sneak up on me from behind. One minute he wasn’t there, and then he was. And he didn’t make a sound, neither. He just launched himself at me. If he hadn’t kicked that rake on the way, I never woulda known he was there. I just had enough time to turn, grab my gun and fire, and then he was on me. Thank God I got him first. Whew!”

“What happened?” Chrissy arrived, out of breath, with Jesse just behind.

“Stealth Zom, apparently,” Daniels joked.

“Damn. I hope there aren’t any more of them around,” Moose replied, shuddering.

“Tell you what,” Daniels said. “I’ll keep watch while you pull carrots or whatever. Chrissy, would you mind getting that crate I dropped in the kitchen? Jesse, I guess you can go back to rounding up clothes.”

Jesse nodded. “You bet.”

A few moments later, there was the sound of a crash coming from the kitchen, followed by a loud, “Goddamn it!”

Once again, Daniels came running. He rushed through the back door, gun swiveling left and right, only to find Chrissy sitting on her ass rubbing her right knee.

“Goddamn rug. Tripped over it.”

Indeed, the rug in the middle of the kitchen was out of place and folded over on itself. As Chrissy stood gingerly and reached down for the crate that had yet again been dropped, Daniels walked over to the rug.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

He kicked the rug aside to expose the trap door that had been hiding beneath. He laid down his rifle and pulled up on the metal handle inset in the door. It opened reluctantly and with a loud creak to reveal a ladder below. He climbed down into the coolness beneath the floor. The ceiling was low, but there was a bulb there with a pull string. He tugged on it, but nothing happened.

He squinted in the gloom until his eyes adjusted.

“Jackpot. It looks like the homeowners like to can their own food. We have dozens of jars of pickles, green beans, beets, and who knows what else? Someone pass me down a crate and I’ll fill it up. We won’t be hungry tonight!”

After several minutes, he pushed the crate up high enough for Moose and Jesse to grab it, and then he climbed back up himself.

“That’s only about a third of them. There’s still plenty more that we can get later if we hang around here long enough. See if you can find some utensils to eat them with so we don’t have to use our fingers like savages. Maybe some napkins. And look around for batteries and maybe a flashlight or two, so we don’t have to eat in the dark tonight. Moose, find some water to rinse off those vegetables you found.”

The four smiled at the prospects of full bellies and fresh vegetables for dinner.

The news got better when they noticed the propane-fueled grill out back under a tarp. That meant they could even cook their veggies and heat up the canned goods.

Now if they could just find some small game to go with their veggies, dinner would be complete.