The Rising Dead (20 page)

“Yeah Gunner,” Parker said derisively. “Why don't you explain it for us simple folk.”

“The United States government was experimenting with the virus on prisoners at the island colony of Islas Marías,” Gunner said. “I guess they thought since they were isolated from the mainland it wouldn't get out. What they weren't counting on were the Zeta's.”

“Who the hell are the Zeta's?” Parker was growing angrier by the second. “And what the fuck do they have to do with this shit storm? You sound like a lunatic.”

“Zeta's are the most feared and respected cartel in Mexico,” Travis said quietly, taking Gemma by the hand. “They were the bodyguards for the Gulf Cartel until they broke off and started their own group. They are all ex-military.”

“Sounds like some kind of bad B movie,” Parker complained. Gunner ignored him.

“Their classified as the most technologically advanced, sophisticated, and dangerous cartel operating in Mexico,” Gunner said. “They're responsible for more beheadings and kidnappings than all the other cartels combined.”

“So why would the Zeta's get involved again?” Max was starting to pay closer attention. Her eyes darted back and forth as she connected the dots.

“Islas Marias is unique,” Gunner said. “The island itself is the prison. People trying to swim away are caught in the current and swept away.”

“Like Alcatraz?” Gemma offered, trying to fit in.

“Exactly,” Gunner said, “only on the island they aren't caged like animals. They are separated into different groups for the most part and left to do chores essential to their survival. It's like being banished. Only the most violent offenders are locked up. There is also a compound for the criminally insane. We can't know for sure but that's more than likely where our government was doing their dirty work.”

“The president of Mexico is up for re-election,” Gunner continued. “He's facing constant pressure about the rise of Cartel violence. So he conducted a bunch of raids that netted him scores of Zeta's and sent them off to Islas Marias as an example. The only problem is these guys don't believe in leaving men behind.”

“They are ex-military,” Max repeated. “So they made a raid on the island.”

“That's why they sank that ship heading towards Coronado Island,” Gunner said. “They concocted that ridiculous story about leprosy and the media swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.”

“The government basically recruited virologists from around the world to help them design the ultimate nightmare super bug,” Travis said looking queasy.

“How do you know about this revelations stuff?” Gemma asked.

“I've gathered bits and pieces online, but there was an article about using viruses for good instead of harm in
Wired
last month,” Travis said sheepishly. “The government was interested in what kinds of practical applications it might have for the pharmaceutical industry. They suggested that a benign form of it might be used to target cancer cells one day.”

“Practical applications,” Gunner scoffed. “With just the tiniest bit of tampering you've got yourself a biological agent, now don't you?”

“How would they get that into the general population without people knowing about it?” Parker asked. “That's the problem with conspiracies, Gunner. They never make sense because too many people would have to know about it for it to be effective. And if that many people knew about it, they'd never be able to keep it quiet. No one is going to sit quietly by while 'the government' creates a deadly virus meant to kill us all.”

“I'm guessing you’ve never heard of compartmentalization,” Gunner mumbled under his breath.

“Tell that to the Guatemalan prisoners and psychiatric patients our government intentionally infected with syphilis and gonorrhea as part of an investigation during the 1940s to study the effects of penicillin,” Travis said. “And the knowledge of that unsavory decade-long experiment only came to light because of Wikileaks. Who knows what else is going on out there right now?”

“Holy shit,” Max said.

“He ain't lying,” Gunner said. “I should know. They put us through all sorts of nonsense in the military and didn’t tell us what it was about. Hell just to be with Zymetech I had to get a ton of strange shots.”

“We're screwed,” Travis said.

“Why would they do that?” Gemma asked.

“Haven't you been listening?” Gunner responded. “They want to kill us all and take back the land and resources for themselves. With the vast majority of people gone from the planet they'd be free to start over, reshape the world any way they saw fit. That's what those FEMA death camps were supposed to accomplish. They just stumbled on a better way!”

“Who's going to rebuild it for them?” Parker asked. “If we're all dead.”

“Oh they’ve got plenty of doctors and scientists and architects and other important people stashed away,” Gunner said. “They'd have thought of that, too. Believe you me!”

“So because we don't know what's going on, we're just going to believe all of his paranoid fantasies? He was head of security. For all we know he set it loose to prove a point.”

Gunner and Parker looked like they were about to go to blows. Neither showed an inkling of backing down. Gemma interrupted them. She'd been fighting back her overwhelming desire to hurl since Gunner had started talking.

“Is there running water down here?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” said Gunner, never taking his eyes off Parker.

“How were you planning on going to the bathroom?”

Gunner pointed at a large, shiny white bucket in the corner.

“Gross,” Max said.

“I'm not going in that,” Gemma said indignantly.

“Suit yourself,” Gunner said. “The only other options are to hold it or risk going upstairs and taking your chances.”

“Will you come with me?” Gemma turned to Max

“Anything beats sitting down here with all this testosterone,” Max shrugged. She turned and climbed the ladder back up to Gunner's bedroom.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Holt tried to explain it again to the cowboy.

“Thunderdome is not far from here,” he said. “By my calculations it's just a few streets over and down. That's where my buddy is. That's where I need to get.”

“Your buddy is dead,” the cowboy said in a sympathetic voice. “I hate to tell you this but unless God has chosen him or he's really fucking lucky there's about a snowballs chance in hell he made it past last night.”

“You're wrong,” Holt replied. “He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't die without telling me. He's strong.”

“The dead are at peace now,” the cowboy explained. “They are with God and Jesus as he prepares to join us in our fight. There's no reason to be upset for your friend. All's I'm saying is that the dead shall bury the dead. We got work to do, smashing in heads.”

“What harm is there is taking a look?” Holt roared, silencing the cowboy. “I mean it's not like it fucking matters which direction we head right? Fucking zombie demons are everywhere and our job is to kill as many as we can. So why not take a minute to check in on my best fucking friend and see if he made it? That's all I'm asking.”

“You're gonna be the death of me,” the cowboy said with a shit eating grin as he knocked back two more little green pills. “You know that?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” the cowboy said. “But I don't want to go on foot.”

“What other choice do we have?”

“The fat bastard who used to own this place has a Cadillac in the garage,” the cowboy said. “I'm in no condition to drive but you can still navigate. Besides you're the only one who knows where we're going.”

“Do you really think we'll make it a block in a car?” Holt stared at him.

“What fucking choice do we have?”

They argued for a while longer about whether or not to load up any supplies from the house. In the end they opted to just scavenge along the way for what they needed. The cowboy climbed into the passenger side with the gun stuffed down the front of this pants and the crowbar in his hands. He was long out of ammo but convinced they'd come across some in their travels.

Holt fired the car up and got it running until it was warmed all the way up. The power was out so he forced open the garage door to a street full of chaos. Not a moment after the door went up they were besieged by angry former humans with an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Holt raced back and locked himself in the car. Six or seven zombies surrounded the car and began to shake it, rubbing their blood and puss covered hands and arms against the windows and howling in frustration that they couldn't get to their intended victims.

The cowboy turned to him with a smile.

“Well? What are you waiting for Hoss?”

Holt put the car in gear and tore forward, running over a fat woman in a checkered dress. The car slowed as the writhing corpse underneath it caught with the front axle and smeared onto the concrete.

“Go ahead and give her some gas to clear that hump,” the cowboy chuckled. Holt stepped on the pedal and they slowly inched forward as the engine revved. Then in one violent burst they cleared the woman underneath the tires and shot out like a rocket. Holt couldn't control the car and they veered off the driveway and onto the lawn, crashing through hedges and finally taking out the mailbox before careening into the street. There was a loud crack as the mailbox and pole hit the windshield. Holt heard the tinkle of broken glass but didn't have time to investigate further seeing as how the streets were awash with hundreds of blood covered zombies.

No time to hesitate
, thought Holt as he floored it again and began mowing them down. Most were simply knocked out of the way but a few shot up onto the long hood of the Cadillac and rolled over the top of the car. The ones he hit got back up almost immediately and began pursuing them. Holt didn't see a single living soul in that gruesome crowd.

The mob of undead monsters thinned as he reached the end of the block, hooking left onto a side street he recognized. He knew where they were now. He'd been right. They were closer to Thunderdome than he had thought. The warm feeling began to spread across his chest again. He didn't know if it was the joy of making a radical escape and coming out alive against the odds or the next dose of the oxy kicking in. He realized to his surprise he didn't care.

“Did you see that last clown?” Holt turned to the cowboy and made a horrifying discovery. The pole from the mailbox had pierced the front windshield and gone straight through the cowboy's head, pegging him to the passenger seat like a scarecrow.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Holt said, trying not to throw up. His eyes darted from the road to the cowboy, trying to take in what had happened in bits and pieces without slowing down and making himself a target. “Cowboy you sonofabitch! What the fuck?”

The pole had gone in clean at his left eye. A thick bright trail of red blood drooled from the wound. Other than that the cowboy actually looked peaceful. He'd died without making a sound.

“I never even got to thank you,” Holt said. “But I will. God has called you home. That's why it was so quick and painless. You're just moving behind the scenes to talk to the generals, the angels that are preparing to join in the fight. You tricky bastard. I will see you soon!”

Holt laughed and cracked open a new beer, intentionally swerving and taking the car up on the sidewalk. He cautiously sipped the beer as he mowed down several more zombies.

“Don't worry cowboy,” he said. “I'm gonna get as many of them as I possibly can.”

The trip back through Sunrise to Thunderdome consisted of several more blocks of running down zombies in the heavy Cadillac. Holt kept talking to the cowboy the whole time. He wished he'd learned the guys name. He wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye. Deep in his heart though he knew this was his life now, the life of a soldier for God, and that death was just a temporary transition off the battlefield.

He pulled up to Thunderdome and parked on the curb. The front of the apartments were strewn with blood and lifeless bodies but there were no immediate signs of zombies. Holt got out, scattering empty beer cans in his wake, and picked up his trusty crowbar.

“You stay here now you hear?”

Holt laughed raucously at his own bad humor and walked towards the apartments. In the courtyard he found Vance taking a leak on the grass.

“What the fuck?” Vance stared at him in shock.

“You're friends with McAnus right?”

“I'm Vance,” he replied, looking dazed. “Wait, what was your name again?”

“Holt,” he replied, shifting the crowbar between his hands.

“Right,” Vance said.

“Have you seen him?”

“Vance?”

He turned and saw a young naked girl walking out of the apartment behind them. She had bite marks on her shoulder and arms like sleeve tattoos.

“Go back inside and wait,” he said annoyed.

“What's taking so long?”

“I said go back inside,” he screamed. “I'll be right in.”

She turned and sulked back into the apartment. A low roar sounded from around the corner of the apartments.

“Shit,” Vance said, rubbing his nose. “They're attracted to sound. Get inside quick!”

Without another word Vance turned and darted for the apartment. Holt followed him. Vance locked them in. The place reeked like cat piss and dust. Vance held a finger up to his lips as he peaked out of the blinds to keep Holt quiet. Outside a large man with half his face melted off and only one arm looped in lazy circles smelling the air. After what felt like a small eternity he turned and moved towards the parking lot.

Fuck,
thought Holt.
He's probably going to feast on the cowboys freshly deceased remains. I should have buried him.

“That was fucking close,” Vance said in a whisper. He turned and walked into the bedroom motioning for Holt to follow him. Inside the young girl lay on a mattress with no sheets on the floor snorting blue powder off a huge mirror.

“What the fuck is that?” Holt pointed at her.

“That's our end of the world party man,” Vance said with a giggle. “We're going to do crank and fuck each other silly until the whole thing comes crashing down on us.”