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  Zombie Warfare

  Impact Series: Book 3

  CRAIG HALLORAN

  Zombie Warfare: Impact Series: Book 3

  Copyright December 2013 by Craig Halloran

  TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

  P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

  www.twotenbookpress.com

  ISBN Ebook: 978-0-989-6216-9-4

  ISBN Paperback: 978-1-941-2085-0-2

  Cover by Ronnell Porter Designs

  Information about this author and his other works available at:

  www.thedarkslayer.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  Publisher's Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Zombie Warfare

  Impact Series: Book 3

  CRAIG HALLORAN

  Prologue

  -Location Unknown-

  “Look, it’s not a setback. Not at all. It was a test run, one of many, and there’s more to come,” the man said, dabbing the sweat on his bald head. He was older. Portly. He guzzled down a bottle of vitamin water. “You have to trust me. I’ve never let you down before.”

  He turned an oscillating fan on and held his face in it a few seconds. Alone aside from the silhouetted image of a man on the computer monitor, he paced around the lab. It was large and private, part of an abandoned hospital in the basement morgue. Another secret lab of the WHS.

  When the image over on the monitor said nothing, he rapped his knuckles on one of the metal gurneys and the sound echoed. There were a dozen gurneys: some with bodies, some without. Zombie bodies. He cleared his throat.

  “What happened at the Rehab is nothing to worry about,” he told the face on the monitor while he strapped a headband with a digital feed on his head and walked over to the laptop to type in a few commands. “Those zombies were serviceable, and they do in a pinch, but now, well ...” He cleared his throat again and gulped down the rest of his water. “I really wish we could get some AC down here. I’m sweating like a pig.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the monitor but the image hadn’t moved. He turned his attention to the zombie harnessed to the table, sitting upright. Its eyes were sunken and the skin pasty, but the jaws and eyes were moving. It moaned a little.

  “Can you see what I’m seeing?” he said. “This web cam on my head should give you a bird’s eye view.” He checked over his shoulder again. Still no reply. “Just shout if I’m too close. Anyway… ahem.”

  The zombie leaned towards him with its eyes searching. It strained at the leather shackles binding its wrists and they groaned. The zombie had been a fit man, maybe in his twenties. The head was shaved and its chin was strong. One naked arm had a special forces tattoo on it and they were both corded in muscle.

  “See this, Boss Man, is a soldier. He got caught up in the middle of the Outbreak where we unleashed the zombies in the Middle East. Probably Afghanistan.” He shrugged. “Maybe Iraq, I don’t know. Anyway, once the Outbreak was controlled, we discovered an army of them wandering around the desert. This was months after things were figured out, maybe a year. These zombies have stamina, I tell you.”

  He took off his lab coat, grabbed a notebook and started fanning himself.

  “And there wasn’t a drop of sweat on them. Not one drop. It’s amazing!” He punched the zombie in the arm. “I envy you guys sometimes. Ahem. So, we discovered … correction … I discovered something helpful. Very helpful indeed. You see, the zombie physiology isn’t very difficult to penetrate. As we learned with the harnesses, we can control their movements, but it wasn’t fluid. I―” he spread his arms wide as if to bow “―suggested we harness some of these soldiers. Why, you ask?” He looked back at the screen and grinned. “Do you work out, Boss?”

  The silhouette remained, but it looked like its hands were folded under its chin. He always wondered how many people were actually watching him. There were cameras everywhere. He assumed he had at least three observers at any given time. At the moment, he guessed on the other side of the monitor was a large office with over a dozen people. The Puppet Masters. One day he’d be seated on the other side of the screen as well.

  “I’m just going to assume you work out. After all, folks are really into keeping up appearances.” He patted his belly. “At least those of us that have places to appear, that is.” He scratched his head. “Where was I?” Snap! “Ah yes, muscle memory. Where we had trouble teaching the zombies more complicated things like aiming and pulling a trigger, we’ve—I’ve― discovered it can be done. Soldiers have had so much repetition that holding and firing a weapon falls right into place. Well, with some special modifications.” He clapped his hands. “It’s amazing!”

  “Imagine, just imagine if we had them ready during the war on terror. They could cover miles of terrain with no food or water, just a solar battery pack to keep our controls connected to them. Just cover them in Zombie Suits and send them on their way. Sure, the drones are great, but could they fly into those caves?” He pinched the zombie’s rugged face. “But this guy can go right in there. Extract data and report. They can do all the searching we can’t. They can run and climb. Robots can’t do that and we don’t have a Six Million Dollar Man. Not even a sixty million dollar man is close to running. No, no, no. This guy just needs weapons and armor. And if we have to remote destruct, no problem. Boom goes the zombie. Boom goes Al Qaeda or whoever.”

  He patted the zombie on the chest. “Well, not you, Steve. I need you for my experiments.” He took off the head gear and made his way back in front of the laptop where the silhouette waited. The silhouette moved a little and he assumed he was muted. He tapped his foot and folded his arms. They have to like this. Only idiots wouldn’t.

  “Dr. Charles, when will this be ready?”

  His smile was toothy and broad.

  “The first trials are about to begin.” He nodded. “I’ll have you patched in.”

  CHAPTER 1

  -Washington, D.C.-

  Location Unknown

  What’s going on here? What’s going on?

  Don sat on a cot shivering. He’d only been awake a few minutes and everything was foggy, his vision blurry. He rubbed his head and surveyed his new surroundings. It looked like the inside of an office trailer like the ones he’d seen at construction sites. It was rustic and musty, and the windows were blacked out

  “Oh … no” he said, grimacing and rubbing his neck. There was a collar around it. Snug. He could feel a small plastic lump on it and metal prongs touching his neck.

  “Damn, a security collar.”

  He’d seen similar ones on dogs, but this one, he was certain, was meant for humans. Long ago when they were first introduced, they had TNT in them to make a man’s head explode. He swallowed hard and the lump was hard to get down. This can’t be happening.

  He stood up on shaking legs. It felt like he hadn’t walked in months. “Jack, oh no, Jack.” He sat back down, holding his stomach. He wanted to retch. The recollection of his nephew’s death hit him like a metal sled.

  Oliver, his personal body guard, had shot his nephew in the chest. Don was mortified. Things like that didn’t happen to a guy like him. It was unimaginable. It was a nightmare. His lungs thinne
d and he started to wheeze a little. He reached into his suit pockets one at a time and patted himself down. “Dammit.” He rummaged through the small drawers alongside the kitchen sink and found only napkins, ketchup and mustard packets. There was some Taco Bell sauce in there too that read, “Ah … we meet again.” The cabinets above the sink were empty and the spigot squeaked when he turned it, but no water came.

  “Oliver,” he said. Shaking his head, he took three short steps to the door and jiggled the handle. “Locked, of course. What did you think, Don, that it would be unlocked? That they went to all this trouble just to let you walk out of here? Wherever this flea trap is.”

  A bright red dot caught his eye. A small black security camera was mounted in the ceiling corner left of the door.

  “Ah,” Don said, wheezing. He resumed his seat and waved. “Probably gonna be awhile.”

  He closed his eyes and began some breathing exercises, but they weren’t helping. He thought about Jack being killed right before him. His family. I wonder if they know already. I hope he took out that life insurance policy I told him to take out years ago. Those things always lessen the grieving. Besides, she was about to divorce him anyway.

  An image of his own wife formed in his head.

  “Aw shit, Becky! She’s crawling the walls by now.” He pointed at the camera. “Oliver, you bastards are going to pay for this. My colleagues from the WHS will be here any moment.” He made a gun with his finger. “They’ll shoot you in the head. They’ll shoot you all in the head.” He wheezed and coughed a little. “I’m Don Baker, dammit. And no one messes with Don Baker!”

  A key was jammed in the lock outside the door and the knob twisted open.

  A small man in mirrored sunglasses stepped inside.

  “Aw shaddup, you old asshole.”

  Don sat up.

  “Excuse me?” He shook his head and squinted his eyes at the man. “Say, you’re WHS security aren’t you? You’re Walker.”

  The man closed the door behind him, took a seat in a folding chair and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

  “What are you doing, Walker? It’s time to get out of here.” Don craned his neck. “And get this damn collar off me. Whoever did this is going to die if they aren’t dead already.”

  Walker clicked open a burnished Zippo and torched the end of his cigarette.

  “Give it a minute, Chief.” Walker spoke with a heavy Southern accent. “We have to wait for the all clear, you know.” He blew smoke in the air. “It’ll be a few moments.”

  Don eyed the .44 Magnum semis on Walker’s slender hips.

  “Two of them. Is there a hoard of zombies out there?”

  Walker looked at him. Silent.

  Don got glimpse of himself in Walker’s glasses.

  “Geez, I look like Hell,” he said, rubbing his bearded chin. “How long did it take you guys to find me, anyway?”

  “Not long.”

  “Fools,” Don said. “Only an idiot would think they could capture a high ranking WHS member. I just can’t believe Oliver is one of those rebels. He was a good man. I liked Oliver.” He coughed and wheezed. “Is he dead?”

  Walker reached into his pocket and tossed Don his inhaler.

  Don exhaled and then squeezed the pumper into his mouth. He held his breath several seconds and blew out a pale mist. He slipped the inhaler back in his pocket.

  “Thanks, Walker,” he said. “Once you get me out of here, I’m taking you out for the finest steak you ever had. How much longer do you think it will be, anyway?” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving.”

  “Not too long.”

  “So, how long have I been out? A day? Two?”

  “Nah,” Walker said, blowing smoke Don’s way. “More like two weeks.”

  “What! Two weeks!” Don jumped to his feet.

  Walker shoved him back down.

  “Hey,” Don said. “Don’t be insubordinate, Walker. Remember who you’re dealing with. I’m Don Baker.”

  Someone else outside jiggled the handle.

  “Looks like the rest of the cavalry is here,” Walker said with a smile, “Asshole.”

  CHAPTER 2

  -Institute, WV-

  “It’s been two weeks, Henry! Two!” Tori stuffed her face in the bed pillow and screamed.

  Henry loaded up his tooth brush and started scrubbing. Since the last incident they’d been treated like prisoners, confined to their room until the WHS guards escorted them to eat in the cafeteria.

  “Geez, Henry,” Tori said, “How many times are you going to brush your teeth in a day? That must be the sixth time already.”

  It was the seventh time actually, and he’d probably brush ten times before the day was over. He scrubbed harder. You’re driving me nuts, Woman. The first few days cooped up together had been pure ecstasy. Tori had the most fascinating way of showing how happy she was to be alive. Henry had never felt so alive before either.

  “Are you ignoring me, Henry? You know I hate that.”

  The room seemed to shrink. Henry’s skin got thin as Tori’s clingy personality took

  over. She was breaking down. Tears started to flow.

  “Do you still love me, Henry? Henry?”

  He rinsed his mouth out, put on his glasses, and smiled his best smile.

  Say cheese.

  He peered outside the bathroom door, looked right at her and holding his smile.

  She lay on the bed like a goddess in a black tank top and pink panties. Her auburn hair was frizzy and her bottom lip jutted out. She glanced at Henry and said, “No, you don’t.”

  Not this again.

  He fought back a sigh, took a seat at the end of the bed and gently rubbed her sensuous legs.

  “Sure I do,” he said. “You know that.”

  “Liar.”

  “Tori, I…”

  He didn’t want to have this conversation again. It always ended up with him apologizing for something he hadn’t started.

  I have to try something different. I can’t handle Tori the Tornado again.

  “You what?” she snapped.

  He cleared his throat. “I was going to say, ‘I think you need your feet rubbed.’ Would you like that?”

  She eyed him. “Are you trying to avoid this conversation, Henry? Huh? Are you?”

  “No, I’m just trying to rub your feet.” He stared right into her eyes. “I know these interviews have been hard on you.”

  “Interviews?” She sat upright. “Interrogations is more like it! Those zombies tried to kill us, and they’re blaming us for killing them. Mother—”

  “Keep your voice down, Tori! Remember last time.”

  She fell silent, glared at him, and fell back on the pillow.

  “Get some lotion.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For rubbing my feet, you idiot. Sheesh!”

  ***

  Henry rubbed her feet until his thumbs were sore. About fifteen minutes into it, Tori was snoring. He sighed, but kept rubbing.

  Yes! I hope this works as well the next time I try it.

  The hard lines on Tori’s face eased and Henry eased his rubbing. Thank goodness! He released her feet and shifted up from the bed. Tori stirred and her eyes started to open. Ah! He grabbed her feet and started rubbing again. She blinked a couple times, showed him an angry look, and then drifted back into her pillow. That was close.

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose and rolled his neck. The past week had been miserable. Every day, the WHS grilled them with questions. No, the same questions after the same questions. It was as if they wanted to see if one of them changed their story. It was madness.

  Henry started rubbing Tori’s foot harder. Fools. He glanced at Tori’s zombie arm. It was dark and a little pasty and corded in skin-tight muscle. When one of the WHS ‘interviewers’ had pushed her too hard, she had grabbed the man by the neck with that zombie arm and slung him over the table. It was the scariest and sexiest thing
Henry had ever seen. He patted her thigh.

  “I sure know how to pick them.”

  At this point, their lives as WHS employees had become ridiculous. He wasn’t a fool and neither was Tori. Someone had tried to kill them. With zombies in Skull Helmets. He and Tori had been just lab rats in an experiment. A sick trial of sorts. Henry had won and the zombies had failed. Score one for mankind. The good side that is.

  He replayed his memories of everything that happened a thousand times, trying to piece it together. He assumed it all went back to the Day Care incident. Too much had happened there and he had become a liability. So had Tori, Weege and Rudy. His brother, Jimmy, and his step father Stanley had been pawns in a bigger scheme. What had been made to look like an accident was anything but that, more like a test. Henry had concluded that months ago.

  He stopped rubbing and moved over to the chair at the desk, turned off the light and peered out the window. It was a moon filled night and there wasn’t a soul moving outside of the rehab courtyard. The place was closed down and abandoned other than the guards and the interviewers.

  He hadn’t seen anyone else since the incident either. Not Weege, Rudy, Rob, or any of the other security guards. There was always a possibility Weege and Rudy could be manipulated. They’d changed since they started working in the Rehab. They’d gotten greedy or something.

  He removed his glasses, leaned back and rubbed his temples. His neck was tight as a spring. Something big was brewing. He could feel it. And he couldn’t help but think that his stepfather’s XT Formula was being used as a weapon and not a cure. The way those zombies moved―so fast and almost fluid―ate at his soul. Stop thinking about it, Henry. Stop thinking. He dozed off.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Henry’s head popped off his chest and his glasses clattered on the floor.

  He blinked and rubbed his blurry eyes.

  Did I just hear that?

  Reaching down, he grabbed his glasses and checked on Tori. She was curled up in a ball. He walked over and covered her with the blanket at the foot of the bed. Wiping the drool from his mouth, he headed for the door, checking his watch. 10:31pm. Who’d be here this late?