Project Zulu (5 page)

Approaching from the opposite direction, Breaker has
Old Glory pushing along the pavement at close to one hundred miles per hour.
Breaker definitely has an attitude, and is equally daring anyone or anything to
get in his way. It has been three days since he has been able to hold court at
Valhalla. The local news reported some sort of drunken driving accident, which Breaker
knew was bullshit, had the road closed off.

Old Glory is rumbling on, Breaker’s hair flowing
behind him like a cape. In an instance, Old Glory swerves underneath Breaker,
as he takes his right hand off the handle bars, and brings it toward his face.
He regains control of Old Glory just before laying her down. He is coughing and
gagging.

The fly was dead the minute it hit the soft pallet
of Breaker’s mouth. By the time Breaker reacted with his first cough, the fly
was already being dissolved in his stomach by hydrochloric acid.

After one final cough, Breaker regains his
composure. Little does he know that his white blood cell count has increased by
10,000; and those white blood cells are losing a battle against some strange
mutant cells that are quickly multiplying, and speeding toward Breaker’s brain.

Within minutes, he is walking into Valhalla,
listening to his entrance music.
God of thunder (Dadu-Da) and rock and
rolllll (Da-da-da-da-Dun-da) the spell you’re under (Dadu-Da)
. Breaker
pumps his fist over his head in appreciation. He makes a bee line toward the
bar and grabs the bottle of San Miguel waiting for him. He downs the whole
bottle in a single gulp; but he can still feel that damn fly, or moth or
whatever the hell had flown into his mouth. He pounds the empty bottle on the
bar, and is downing a second bottle now. He lets out a loud belch, then a deep
exhale.

“Get any on you?”

“Screw you Butchy! Give me another.” Breaker turns
around and surveys his domain. “Hey Butch, you got the heat turned on or something?
I am sweating my ass off.”

“Got the air set on 70, you sick or something
Breaker?”

“It feels like it is a hundred degrees in here.”

“That’s because you have too many clothes on”, says
Mia Rae the cute little brunette that has joined the conversation. “Come on
with me and I’ll cool you down.”

Breaker glances in her direction. “Hey Mia, you are
looking good girl.”

Mia tosses her head to the side, sending her hair
flowing in a rippled wave. Her hand makes a slow climb up Breaker’s muscled
thigh, stopping just as her fingertips reach his crotch. She makes eye contact
with the blonde behind the bar with Butch.

The blonde shakes her head and lets out a sigh. “I
am going out back to have a smoke Butch; I will be back in twenty.”

“OK Amy, burn one for me too.”

Amy rolls her eyes at Breaker, and storms away from
the bar. Mia is now straddling Breaker, grinding her hips to the beat of the
music.

“Hey man, what is the deal with you and Amy?”

“No deal Butch, I just don’t like being anchored in
port, know what I mean?”

“Does Amy know that?”

“Butch, how about we don’t do this? No disrespect
man, but your sister is a big girl, and you and I have been friends too long.
Do us both a favor, and mind your own damn business.”

Butch throws his hands up, indicating his surrender.
“You are right; I will stay out of it.”

“Thanks Butch.” Breaker turns his attention back to
Mia. “Now, what exactly did you have in mind young lady?”

Mia whispers something in Breakers ear, he smiles, and
then Mia smiles as she takes his hand and leads him to the back room. After
fifteen minutes in the back room whatever has infected Breaker’s body, is now
swimming around inside of Mia’s. Ten minutes later, she is the first to leave
the back room, reapplying her lipstick and adjusting her top. She continues on
her flirtatious rounds, kissing hello and stealing sips of beer from everyone
she meets. Breaker is barely able to button his pants up and stagger back to
the bar.

“You want another Breaker? Hey, Breaker, you alright
man?”

Before Butch can reach out and grab him, Breaker
falls forward, smacks his head off the bar, and thumps to the floor. Blood is
flowing from a gash in his forehead, as a crowd quickly gathers; Butch feels
for a pulse and looks around at the group; he shakes his head ‘no’. As he is
getting back to his feet, trying to avoid the spreading puddle of blood, he
hears a scream from across the room. The crowd’s attention shifts toward the
scream.

“Something is wrong with Mia, she just passed out, and
I don’t think she is breathing. As Butch is approaching Mia, a man, Erik
Zesttrim, has already started CPR. He is trying to force air into her lungs.
Butch kneels down and puts his forefinger against her neck. “Erik, she is gone
you are just wasting your time.”

Erik stops and looks at Butch, “I gotta try man, go
call an ambulance.”

Butch shakes his head disapprovingly, “Closest
hospital is 150 miles and they sure aren’t sending a life flight copter for
that skank. You go ahead and knock yourself out; I’m going to wash this blood
of my hands. Butch turns to head back to Breaker’s body and then stops in his
tracks. “Alright, who moved him? Cut off that music, now! Who the hell moved
his damn body?”

The music stops and the bar is silent. Breaker’s
body is gone, there are bloody footprints leading away from where he had
collapsed but no drag marks. Butch is about to holler again but Erik beat him
to it.

“Hey look, she is coming around; I told you she
wasn’t gone.”

All eyes turn back to Mia, her arms and legs twitching
ever so slightly, as Erik still kneels next to her. Suddenly Mia’s eyelids
open, a cloudy grey mist covers the entire eye; the pupils are almost
nonexistent. Erik takes his hand from beneath her head and begins to move his
arm away, and then Mia notices the movement. She turns her head toward him, and
reaches out for his arm. She lets out a low throaty hiss, and then bites him,
taking a chunk out of his arm. Erik pulls away, blood pumping out of his arm as
Mia scrambles to her feet. Butch pulls his .38 from his waistband and empties
all five shots into Mia’s chest. He is dumbfounded when she keeps coming toward
him.

By now the bar is in a panic. Nobody has noticed the
dozen or so other people that have collapsed. A few people are trying to help
wrap a tourniquet around Erik’s arm as he slides into shock; but most are
running to the door. Standing in their way, in front of the locked doors…
Breaker. His eyes are also clouded over, but his pupils are fiery red.

The examination room is bathed in bright light,
which is magnified by the white walls and floor. A single stainless steel table
sits in the middle of the room, with a corpse strapped atop. As the three of
them enter the room, Jimmy stops and gasped. “My god, is that Z? Why isn’t it inside
the cryogenic capsule? Mike, you do realize that it will deteriorate if it is
allowed to thaw?”

Before Mike can answer, the restrained corpse turns
its head toward Jimmy’s voice. Jimmy feels his legs buckle and then finds
himself being supported by Mike.

“We are pretty sure that deterioration is not going
to be an issue Jimmy; and the official name of the subject is Specimen Z.”

“Hey, do you know what Mike, I will call that thing
whatever I want. We have all known it as Z since the project started.”

Mike sighs, “Alright Jimmy, Z it is.”

OhAy steps around the two men and approaches Z.

“You are going to make sure you stay clear of its
mouth”, Mike said.

OhAy turns and shoots him a glance. “This is not my
first time, General, and his hands, I mean hand, is just as dangerous as his
mouth.” She walks past the table to the glove dispenser hanging on the wall.

“You mean
its
hand, right Doctor?”
Jimmy asks.

“No, I mean
his
hand. What you have
strapped to the table is a male zombie.”

She snaps on a pair of gloves and she focuses her
attention on Z. Carefully she examines his eyes, then his hand and then his feet.
Jimmy watches in amazement as Z struggles and squirms against his bonds.

OhAy pulls off her gloves and rejoins the men in the
corner of the room. “Well, gentlemen, what you have here is indeed a zombie,
however I see no signs of any type of Loa possession. Where are the missing
digits from the hand? It is very possible that the essence of the Loa, if he
did indeed once possess this creature, is still contained within one of the
amputated pieces. Whoever translated the scrolls for you was mistaken about the
Loa being Nzambi; that deity is far too powerful to be summoned, and even if he
was, no spell would keep him contained against his will. I believe the Loa
referenced in the scrolls is
Azaka-Tonnerre, the thunder Loa.
We should reanimate and check the digits.”

Jimmy clears his throat. “The fingers and thumb are
gone, they were utilized during testing.”

Mike joins the conversation. “Completely utilized, as
in destroyed, nothing left?”

“Yes Mike, completely utilized. Don’t act so
surprised, the use of the fingers and thumb was fully documented in the daily
reports.”

“Jimmy I have read those reports and the weekly
briefs, I was aware of the fingers, but I do not recall having seen anything
about the thumb.”

“Well then you better go back and re-read, because
it is all there. Both myself and Ross.” Jimmy stops for a moment after saying
the name, “I am sorry, I forgot he was gone for a minute. Anyway we both reviewed
the testing schedules; all of the digits were utilized. I don’t have anything
else to say on that matter.”

“Gentlemen, it does not matter. If the amputated
parts have been destroyed, then there is only one way to ensure that the scrolls
you found are not describing this zombie. An embodied spirit has to be
released, it cannot be destroyed. There are only two ways, that I am aware of,
to release it; removal of the spell, or rebirth. I will set up my talisman and
perform a banishing spell. If this zombie is possessed, the Loa will be
released.”

“Rebirth? What exactly do you mean? Mike, do you
know what she is talking about? I mean I understand removing the spell,
actually I don’t understand that or should I say I don’t believe it. What does
she mean by rebirth?”

Mike shakes his head no. “What do you mean Doctor?”

“What I mean is the spirit must be passed on to new
life. Once reborn the spirit can move freely as it pleases.”

OhAy removes various bottles, gems and candles from
her bag. She carefully places drops from the different bottles on the zombies
head, wrists, ankles and stomach. She positions shiny black stones on the four
corners of the examination table, and a black candle, carved with symbols, at
the foot of the table and lights it. She pulls a colorful veil up over her
head, and begins to chant, in Haitian, while waving a petrified chicken foot through
the smoke of the candle. After five minutes, she collects the gems, and
extinguishes the candle.

“It is obvious to me that Azaka is not embodied in this
zombie, this zombie is nothing special; I would recommend immediate
termination.”

“Are you crazy? Mike, she has to be joking! This is
ground breaking research.”

“Relax Jimmy, no one is destroying it; I mean him, I
mean no one is destroying the specimen. Dr., are you certain there is nothing
special about Z?”

“Gentlemen, please do not insult me, my ancestors
and I have been dealing with zombies far longer than your government has been keeping
them secret. I know why each of you have your motives for wanting to keep this
creature animated. General, you and your government wish to create an
unstoppable soldier; and Jimmy you hope to utilize the zombie to synthesize
human organs. You are both fools. Nothing good comes from these creatures. They
are the result of dark magic and evil intentions. Nothing good can result from
the use of the dark arts, nothing.”

Before either man can respond a member of the
security detail, outfitted in full combat gear, enters the room and approaches
the general. “General, I have an urgent message for you.”

“What is it?”

“Sir, I am afraid the message is classified”, the
soldier responds gazing at Jimmy and OhAy suspiciously.

“I said what is it, sergeant, everyone in this room
is cleared!”

“Yes Sir. There is a situation in the morgue Sir”,
the soldier is now staring at Z.

“What kind of situation? Can you please just spit it
out?”

“Sir we have a number of casualties, two men
mortally wounded, and three more in critical condition. Also, two members of
the medical staff are dead, Sir.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Sir they were attacked, by one of those”, the
soldier responds pointing at Z.

Two men wearing dark suits, one carrying a black
duffle bag that makes him resemble an old time doctor, come out of the train
station and approach the idling limousine at the curb. The darkened rear window
of the limousine descends, and the two men have a brief conversation with the
occupant of the back seat. The man with the bag hands it through the window and
then steps away from the car as the window goes back up. The limo pulls away
from the curb and the two men walk across the street to a waiting taxi cab.

They both crowd into the back seat of the cab, and
the second man is just pulling the door closed as the driver is turning around
in his seat to face them. As the door thumps closed, the driver pumps three
shots, from a silenced pistol, into each man. Satisfied that they are both
dead, the driver puts the cab into gear and pulls away from the curb. The cab is
200 feet down the road when it erupts into a massive explosion, sending twisted
metal and pieces of the driver and his two deceased passengers out in a 50 foot
radius.

Joseph Victorino does not take chances, and he never
leaves loose ends. Now there was only one other person that could tie him back
to Syscorp, except his mole. He did not like the fact that somebody, Jimmy
Gaston, other than himself knew about what was inside the black bag. He did not
like it, but he is pretty sure that Julie Gaston will keep Jimmy silent.

He rides in silence, staring down at the bag,
pondering on the notion that he is about to become even wealthier than he
already is. The initial interest from bidders was very promising. Chen Cloy
Chin, representing the Chinese Triad, has already offered him one billion
American dollars if he skips the auction and sells directly to him. He declined
the offer, but thanked him for setting the bar for the opening bid.

He stretches across the seat, reaching for the
handles of the bag, but before he can completely close his grip around the bag
his entire body lurches forward violently. His head crashes through the privacy
glass, separating the back seat from the driver, and his face is cut to
ribbons. A second concussive force sends him further into the front seat, and
before his eyes completely flood with blood, he sees the driver’s headless body
sprawled out across the hood of the car. He mumbles out loud, “what the hell is
going on?”

He forces his body back through the jagged glass,
slicing his upper back and torso, and slumps back against the contorted seat.
Repetitive thumping begins droning in his ears, WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP, followed
by shattering glass. The side window comes raining in on him, and the head of a
sledge hammer rebounds off the back of the seat.

Daylight pours into the limo, followed by a heavily Asian
accented voice. “Get the bag! The jiang shi is in the bag. If anyone inside is
still alive, kill them.”

Mr. V crawls over and peers out the window and sees
the severely wrecked armored car that has collided with his limo. A hand
quickly pushes him away from the window, and then grabs the bag. Mr. V. notices
a tattoo on the intruding hand. In the webbing between the thumb and
forefinger, a circle around a triangle with an oriental symbol inside it; the
marking of a member of the Triad. Before he can open his mouth to say anything,
the tattooed hand returns holding a pistol. FUMPF, FUMPF, two shots silence any
protests Mr. V had been planning to offer.