Project Zulu (13 page)

The television is tuned into some sitcom, about nothing in
particular. The volume is low. The man on the screen that is serving up soup is
suddenly replaced by a test pattern accompanied by an annoying hum. As abruptly
as it appeared, the test pattern is gone, replaced by an older man sitting at a
desk.

“My fellow Americans, it is with great sadness that I
address you this evening. Earlier today, citizens of this great nation came
under attack in a deliberate and deadly terrorist act. We are still sorting out
the details; however I am prepared to confirm that a low level nuclear
detonation has occurred in the town of Apollo, a small rural area in western
Pennsylvania. Our first priority is to isolate the impact point, and get help
to those who have been injured in surrounding areas. I have already spoken with
the Governor of Pennsylvania, and I have ordered the National Guard to secure
the outer perimeter while a full military force is deployed into the area. I
have declared Marshall Law in Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia and Maryland
and I am imposing a dusk to dawn curfew across the nation. All travel to and
from the east coast is suspended indefinitely, and all non-military air traffic
in the United States has been grounded. I ask that each of you cooperate with
local authorities. Once it has been determined what level of radiation, if any,
is present reporters and news crews will be permitted into the area, on a very
limited basis. Due to the nature of the disaster, all lines of communication
have been compromised. We have arranged for professionals from all major
communication companies to diligently work on restoring communication and data
networks. Once we have something new to report, I will address you again. Until
that time, please join me in sending out prayers to everyone with loved ones in
the Western Pennsylvania area.”

Tears are running down Julies face, as she screams out
hysterically.

The red light on the camera goes out, indicating that the
live feed is off, and the President gets up and walks away from his desk.

“Somebody give me an update now, what is the eradication rate?”

“Sir, we obtained just the action that we were hoping for,
the blast took out ninety-nine percent of the creatures. Sir, no one made it to
the extraction point.” Replied Sid Coswell, the white house chief of staff.

“Damn it! Nobody made it, Sid?”

“Sir, General Balchor and his group made it into the fall
out bunker in the subterranean level of the Syscorp facility.”

“That is fantastic news; I want a rescue team routed to the
facility within the hour.”

Sid steps in close to the President. “Sir, we have detected
non-infrared related motion on various levels of the facility, including
directly outside the bunker. We have no way of knowing what the contamination
level is.”

“Exactly what are you saying to me Sid?”

“Mr. President, there are two more LRS-B2 bomber
approximately thirty minutes outside of Apollo airspace. Each bomber is
carrying two 12,000 pound BLU-113 seismic bunker busters.”

The President looks around the room. “So everyone thinks
that we should cut our loses and level Syscorp along with everyone alive
inside?”

Sid answers for the room. “And everything not alive, Sir. We
cannot risk the contaminant escaping. We have already secured a new specimen,
so why take the risk?”

The president rings his hands, and then runs them through
his hair. “Radio the pilots, and tell them not to miss. I am going up to the
residence to take a shower and have a drink. Let me know when it is done.”

The bombers are cruising at 18,000 feet when the four 12,000
pound bombs are released. They are traveling downward at over 170 MPH, and make
a distinctive whistling sound as they descend. They collide with the building
and ground at an impact force of 750 MPH. The force of the impact creates
shockwave equivalent to a 7.5 magnitude earthquake. Just as designed a
secondary rocket boost engages as soon the bombs make contact with the ground,
driving them deeper. Each bomb burrows until encountering concrete thicker than
six feet; or an air pocket, which usually represents a shelter or hideout.

Once the bombs stop burrowing, either by design, or loss of
inertia, the countdown begins. The bombs are engineered not to explode on
impact, but rather to remain dormant; lulling bunker inhabitants to believe
that the bombs were either duds, or that the ground impact was the explosion.

Inside the bunker, Mike recognizes the sound of the bombs
burrowing immediately. He decides not to say anything, knowing full well that
there is nothing he or anyone else inside the bunker can do now. Once the bombs
find the concrete around the bunker, the modified warhead will detonate,
killing everyone inside the bunker.

Outside the bunker, Azaka also recognizes the sound, thanks
to the memory banks of Breaker. He is not as willing to give up, and drags
himself to the damaged elevator shaft, and begins to pull himself up the
cables, toward the surface and out of the blast zone. He knows all he has to do
is make it to the surface, and he has a chance to continue his vengeance
against the humans.

What Azaka doesn’t know is that one of the bombs stopped
burrowing once it made it through the ground, and into the main lobby. It is
sitting in the main hallway, leading up to the elevator, in the process of
counting down.

He reaches the main floor, and pulls himself out of the
elevator, and is face to face with the bomb. He closes his eyes and desperately
searches for the mind of one of his zombies, outside of the building and blast
zone, but finds none. He does not know how long he has until the bomb explodes,
and decides that it is time to leave this plane of existence, while he still
can. His final vengeance will have to be surviving, while the humans perish. He
is about to open his eyes, then stops and smiles. He pulls himself across the
floor, and grabs ahold of the bomb. He lurches, with all of his immortal might,
and forces his body and the bomb back into the elevator shaft. Gravity does the
rest of the work, delivering the bomb right to the doorstep of the shelter. The
smile is gone from his face, and his eyes are again closed as the bomb
explodes.

The pilot of the JAL Flight 820, a Boeing 773, was so
confident that he was not leaving that he had already called his wife and told
her not to expect him home.

The United States Military is at DEFCON 3, and all
non-military air traffic has been suspended. The only reason that the Japanese
airline is still on the runway is that it is an international flight.

Obviously, the single passenger in the first class cabin had
enough influence to override the grounding order. Nobody is more surprised that
the flight received clearance to take off; he has suspicions who or more
precisely what, the passenger in first class is; but he would never utter it
aloud. He knew too well, you can say what you want about the more famous
Italian mob, but the real gangsters are Japanese Yakuza. Yakuza had been known
to kill entire generations of a family to settle a debt.

In total there are thirty-five passengers aboard, the plane
designed to carry 285, all entourage members of the lone occupant of the first
class cabin. He is speaking into a satellite phone. “Watashitachiha,
pakkēji o kakuho shite ori, hon'no sū-bu de kūki ni narimasu. Tekisetsuna
refrigoration ga kassōro de taiki shite iru to no transportaion o o
mochidesu.” He powers off the phone, and pushes the flight attendant call
button.

A young blonde, wearing very little, approaches his seat
(JAL understands that Japanese businessman enjoy ‘diverse’ flight attendants).
“Can I get you something sweetie?”

He hands her a soda can with no label. “Put in freezer, I
want very cold. You understand?”

She smiles, nods her head yes and takes the can. As she
walks away, she can feel his eyes glued to her ass. She looks back over her
shoulder and smiles as she starts down the steps to the galley.

She mumbles under her breath, to nobody but herself. “I
understand that a can of soda will explode in the freezer, you stupid bastard.”
She tosses the can onto a countertop but it misses and strikes a knife, hanging
from a rack, just right; sending the knife in a boomerang motion toward her.
She puts her hands up instinctively, and the knife slices through her thumb and
index finger. The cut isn’t bad, but it is bleeding.

The soda can lands on the ground, and she scrambles to grabs
it, with her injured hand, before realizing that she is cut. The can is
leaking, something, but definitely not soda. Whatever it is, it runs down her
hand, into the cuts on her fingers, mingling with her blood.

Once she realizes that her hand is bleeding, she wipes off
the can and sets it down on the countertop, she uses the rag that she wiped the
can with to apply pressure to her cuts until she can bandage them.

Inside her body, her white blood cells are multiplying and rushing
toward her wounds, to fight an already lost battle.

The pilot’s voice floats through the plane, as he makes his
pre-take off announcement.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have been cleared for takeoff, and
will taxi to the runway in a moment. Please secure all lose items, and fasten
your seat belts. Crew members please prepare for departure.”

The perky blonde flight attendant suddenly feels nauseous;
she dashes for the bathroom, as the plane begins to move.

The knock on the door is faint, but firm. The President
opens it and waves Sid into the room. “Well?”

“The buildings collapsed as a result of the aftershock of
the impact of the bombs; all four performed as expected. We are no longer
detecting any life or movement in the area.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Sir, we can run with the story that the General and his
group were victims of the terrorist attack. We are already putting the spin out
there that the terrorist had overtaken the building, and were hunkered down
inside. We dropped the bombs to kill them and avenge the attack they made.”

“Yes, yes, sounds good. Give me a couple of hours and I will
make another address.”

“Sir, there is one other thing, pretty minor but still.”

“What is it?”

“Seems a JAL passenger jet disregarded the no fly order, and
took off from Logan International. It is currently over the Mid-West.”

“Well, get a couple of F-14’s up there next to it, and get
me Japan on the line. That plane is coming back down to United States soil,
either on its own, or in pieces. We will never be able to sell the terrorist
attack story if we let that plane fly away.”

“Yes Sir.”

Six hours after taking off from Boston, JAL Flight 820 is on
the ground at LAX. The runway is congested with government sedans, military
vehicles and limos with Japanese diplomatic plates. Armed marines in full
combat gear are keeping a perimeter around the plane.

The unsuspecting members of the Yakuza are about to be taken
into custody, for funding the terrorist attack on the east coast; once the
Japanese ambassador convinces (lies) them that they are all being whisked off
to the embassy.

The first person off of the plane leaves on a stretcher. The
perky blonde flight attendant is pale as a ghost, and is running a fever of a
hundred and three. She is quickly ushered into the ambulance, even though one
of the EMT’s can be overheard saying that he thinks they are losing her.

They have placed an oxygen mask over her face, and are about
to blast her with the defibrillator for the second time, when her eyelids
flutter.

“Hold on, I think she is coming around.”

The other EMT puts the defibrillator down, and places his
head on her chest, listening for breathing and a heartbeat. “I can’t hear her
lungs or heart.”

“Her eyes are fluttering man, maybe she is stroking out. I
am gonna start her on fluids. Get us moving, and get L.A. Memorial on the
radio, tell them we are heading there; they have the best trauma center around.”

Since both of the EMTs are preoccupied, neither one notices
her eyes are wide open pupils glowing fiery red.

First, I just want to address the fact that I took some big
liberties with the actual geographic layout of the Apollo Pennsylvania area. I
know that real places are not where they belong, and roads don’t go where they
are supposed to. This is a work of fiction, inspired by reality, I mean come on
everyone knows that zombies are not real…right?

Anyway, I wanted to incorporate some real landmarks and
places from the area, but I needed to make them fit the story. Anyone from the
area will certainly know the inspiration for Valhalla, the ‘Biker Bar’, and
Syscorp the fenced in facility in the middle of nowhere.

Apollo was indeed engulfed in controversy in the 1960’s due
to missing uranium and a radiation leak at a power generating station, which I dramatized
a bit, and then again in the final week of 1979 when two men went on an alleged
killing spree just for the fun of it.

I also had to give credit to the ‘Godfather’ of modern day
zombies (especially in Pittsburgh) George A Romero by incorporating a brief
homage to his 1968 cult classic, Night of the Living Dead, when Ross remembers
a government cover up from his childhood in chapter ten.

Now, just a quick note to those that took the time to read
Project
Zulu
, I wish to express a heartfelt Thank You! If my first endeavor,
Unconditional
would not have been as successful and well received, neither you, nor
anyone else would have had the opportunity to read
Project Zulu
.

I good bit of the success of
Unconditional
is
a result of readers that took the time to express their opinions by creating
and publishing honest and pointed reviews on Amazon and or Barnes and Noble. I
wish there was a way for me to personally thank each and every reviewer,
whether the review was fantastic, good, just O.K or bad. Honest feedback is
what makes every Author better.

I came up with, what I believe to be, a unique way to say
“Thanks!” One of the short stories from my book
Faded Shorts
uses
anagrams as part of the plot. I came up with that thought, while also working
on
Project Zulu
and decided to use it again.

Everyone that wrote a review for
Unconditional,
or
Faded Short
s was used as a character in
Project Zulu
.
I created an anagram of the name of the reviewer (If I knew who you were, or
suspected it, I used your real name), and then killed that character at some
point of the book.

So, much like the afterword of
Unconditional
hopefully did, I hope this afterword sends you flipping back through the pages,
looking for yourself. Thank You! The Cast of Characters: 
Adam
Tugto, Chen Cloy Chin, Elmer Kinoz, Daphne Joelis, Ryan Almasung Dan Gillsir,
Erik Zesttrim, Thor Seven Carina Hitshorn, Mia Rae, Greta Prosty, Jen Ginnjs, Hank
Sonrox, Brice Hellatoni, Jeb Chonk, Cam Alk, (and the only one character
responsible for multiple reviews), Amy Sunoon--- Anonymous.