The seclusion of his high-rise condominium kept most wanton predators at bay. It was his three thousand square foot man cave. The starlets of his world came and went as he saw fit. This was his anti-matrimony lair. No girls allowed … for long.
He followed a short set of stairs into a den that overlooked the city of Washington, D.C.. Nate’s study was plenty big, displaying custom mahogany cabinets, marble counter tops and an oversized mini bar. Closing the door behind him, he grabbed a Gobster energy drink from the fridge. Pulling back the tab, he glanced over the can. Caffeine and sugar… the nectar of the zombies. He let out a quick laugh; after all, it was his dumb luck that made the discovery. It seemed that two of his favorite ingredients were the zombies' as well. He felt an unsettling in his stomach and set the can down.
He watched the busy city streets below. The streams of people, as small as ants, seemed to be on the move as the rain began to splatter his window. He could never crush the thought that all of those people might have been zombies, should have been zombies, if not for him. Now, he wanted to be ready if it happened again.
The only good that came from the zombies was the dismemberment of global terrorism. The Middle East was inflicted at the outset and their losses were reported heavier than most. Leaders of the tight knit networks all but disappeared, either from death or zombieism, as most speculated. Many differences were settled, as people all over the world seemed to understand that there were bigger problems that needed to be addressed … like extinction.
Sitting down in a comfortable leather desk chair, he checked some accounts, read messages and texted a few that had dangled in his thoughts for days. He felt like there were a thousand things he needed to do, but that wasn’t the case. A thirty-six inch LCD was suspended before him. He spent about ten more minutes hammering at the keys, chugging down the rest of his energy drink. Crap. It was past noon and he had a needy woman to contend with.
Snatching another drink, he looked down into the rain. Washington, D.C. was a foreign place to him. A large city that left him trapped. He never felt lost however, because someone would find him. Something always plagued him though. Why was there no zombie outbreak in D.C.? One in fifty people abroad had turned, yet a much smaller fraction in the nation’s capital was afflicted. No senators, congressmen, joint chiefs, or Supreme Court Justices crossed the undead path. The conspiracy theories should have abounded, but they did not. It was a theory that only a few others he knew still talked about.
He was tapping his finger on the side of the black and blue can. He had been digging and thought he found something worthwhile, but there was no one to tell. I wonder what Henry will think. Most of his friends and family were gone, and he never seemed to have time to make new ones. Henry Bawkula was about the only one he ever contacted over the years. Henry he could trust, but he knew his college friend wouldn’t feel the same about him. Not after Jeanine.
He moved forward on his search, as every day he felt like something was about to happen, something big was going on. He was a liar, and he knew a liar when he heard one, and those who proclaimed him a hero were the worst liars by far. He used to lie to stay out of trouble, but they lied for power and he felt caught in the middle. He wanted to disappear.
He dragged himself over, slumped down in his cloth sectional and began playing the latest Darkslayer RPG game on his television screen. Ah yes, my favorite escape from reality, smash-mouth fantasy. He had spent over an hour chopping down monsters with a massive battle axe when the power went off. The overcast sky provided gray light in an otherwise black room. It was dead quiet, other than the beating rain. He stepped out of his study and looked down at the black furniture silhouettes in his living room. His knee began to ache again as he looked outside at the other buildings whose lights were still on.
A weird feeling overcame him. What was that!? Something shifted in the shadows, he was sure of it.
“Christy?” he whispered. There was no reply. “Christy?”
He waited on the landing, squinting. Fear filtered inside him as he stepped down the stairs. He began to relax as the edges of his furniture became clear, and he began to recognize the layout in the dim light.
He banged his knee on the edge of an antique buffet. OW!
He stubbed his toe on a couch leg. “Dammit!” His eyes began to water as he hobbled towards his bedroom.
He felt stupid as he sipped more fluid from his canister.
I don’t even have a flashlight. Or match—Or candle—Stupid!
There never had been a need. He pushed the cracked bedroom door open. The heavy curtains had remained closed and the room was as black as a coal mine. He knew his way around and made it over to Christy’s side. He ran his hand along the small of her back and caressed her hair. He shook her body a bit.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She didn’t respond.
“Hey!” he whispered in her ear. “Wake up!”
He ran his hand down her back, over her rump and up again. She didn’t stir. He jostled her hair. Nothing happened. He felt something wet on his hand. He held it to his face.
What the hell is this? It was dark, sticky and warm. He shook her hard, panic coursing through him, but she didn’t move.
“Christy! Christy! Wake up baby! Wake—ulp!”
Something seized him from behind, strangling his neck and squeezing his throat. He felt like a bear had a hold on him as he tried to scream, but his tongue did not move. Help! Help! Dear God help me! A sharp needle sunk deep into his neck, injecting a fluid that burned like fire. His body went numb as he felt himself fall helpless onto his bed.
CHAPTER 18
“What happened!? What happened!?”
Henry was almost yelling. The distraught look on her sweet face unsettled him. They had been going at it for over fifteen minutes. Sitting on the car hood, arms folded, she kept her head buried in her chest. He knew how stubborn she could be. They’d been on again, off again, over the years, and this was a big reason why. She wouldn’t talk about some things to him. She stuffed things deep inside, unwilling to share her past. This was another one of those times.
He asked her again, cheeks reddening more by the second.
“Was it Jimmy? Did he say something perverted to you?”
She shook her head back and forth, choking at the sound of the name.
“Come on … tell me what is wrong, you’re driving me crazy,” he said, immediately wishing he had not let those words out.
“What!” she said, raising her voice and head, mascara running from her eyes.
“I’m driving you crazy!?” She slipped off the hood of her car.
Oh no, here we go. Henry stepped away.
“You leave me here—for two weeks—with these—perverts! Your sick bastard of a brother shows up and ogles me like a webcam slut … and you think I’m crazy!”
He was being driven further backward. Tori’s fingernails poked into his chest as her voice echoed off the concrete walls of the garage. There was nothing he could do now. Stanley warned him about these Italian women, and it wasn’t as cute as it used to be.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he slipped on some gravel, shielding himself with his hands. He never would have thought worrying about the feelings of a woman would make him want to crawl in a hole. Moments like this made him miss being a bachelor. He wanted to know what was wrong however, so he stood his ground. He had to do something fast. In a quick gentle motion, he caught her up in his arms and squeezed.
“What are you doing—let go!” she demanded, trying to pound his chest.
He didn’t though, holding her tight, hoping she wouldn’t knee him in the gonads like she had done once before.
“Forgive me. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
His words softened her body and he could feel her pull close. Tori wrapped her arms behind his back. The smell of her exotic perfume, coupled by her warm body, aroused his senses. Things were beginning to feel better, as hi
s and her longing were beginning to be intertwined by the rush of emotion and adrenaline. He wanted her now, and he felt she needed him. Her sobbing turned into low passionate whimpers as her hot lips pressed into his neck.
The sound of the garage elevator opening interrupted his thoughts and he pulled away. Someone was rushing his way. He pushed Tori behind him.
“Is everything okay?” It was Rudy. His chubby face was flushed red.
“What do you mean, ‘is everything okay?’” Henry asked.
“Well,” the hairy man stopped to catch his breath, “… it was like you guys both disappeared. I’ve been trying to find you for the past twenty minutes.”
“Did you call my cell phone?”
“Yes!” Rudy retorted, pointing at Henry's waist.
Reaching down, he realized his phone case was empty on his belt, and a quick pat down of his clothes revealed he was without the mobile device.
“Oh … sorry.”
He wasn’t embarrassed however. Tori was still hugging him tight from the side. Rudy was giving her a funny look.
“Hey, were you guys about to get busy,” Rudy said, wiggling his hips.
“No!” she said.
Henry intervened, “She’s just upset,” he felt her arms tighten around his waist, “… that I’ve been gone so long.” He did the best he could on the fly.
His friend was rubbing his messy beard.
“Ah … so you weren’t getting busy. I get it.” Rudy winked and said, “Brown chicken, brown cow.”
Henry stood there gawking at his friend whose mind had wandered somewhere else. As the awkward moment passed, he asked again, “Now, why did you need to get a hold of me?”
Rudy seemed confused, as if he’d just woken up and finally said, “Uh …” his eyes lit up, “oh shit, that’s right, Louie is missing man. Louie is frickin’ missing!”
Tori let out a sharp gasp beside him. He couldn’t believe his ears. It wasn’t possible. There were security cameras everywhere and every precaution was taken. His thoughts went to Jimmy and another chill went down his spine.
“What!? What do you mean? He can’t be missing! It’s not possible—”
“Man, I’m telling you, he’s gone. Me and Weege have been looking for almost an hour.”
“An hour! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he yelled, as he rushed back toward the elevator.
Idiots. All of them. Trusting Jimmy. He wanted to kill somebody as he hammered at the only button outside the elevator.
“Tori, you stay here,” he shouted.
“Hell no, I’m going in.”
He grabbed her, “No, you’re going home.”
She jerked away from him, “Don’t tell me no Mister, I’ve got a job here, too.” She glared at Rudy who turned away from her angry stare. “I’m sure it’s not going to be that big a problem.”
He’d rather face a zombie than her wrath again, so he let it go. “Where’s Ralph? Is he looking?”
“No, he left an hour ago, sick as a dog. He puked something awful,” Rudy said with a sour look on his face.
Henry didn’t see Ralph’s car. He looked up at the elevator light. It was red. He kicked the door.
“You got to use your card man, the button don’t work,” Rudy said scanning his card.
Nothing happened. Henry tried his and Tori hers. Nothing happened. Something wasn’t right and he had to get in there. His dad and Weege were in certain danger. Henry, Rudy and Tori were, too.
CHAPTER 19
Washington, DC
Everything inside of Nate McDaniel was screaming for help. His life was rushing through his thoughts. Those last moments with Jeanine, good and bad, resurfaced more than anything. That’s what they say happens when you’re about to die. You think about what you loved most.
He knew there were at least two people in the room, one was the big one that had turned him over like a rag doll, the other he wasn’t sure. The lights had come back on and he could hear thunder cracking in his ears. He couldn’t move an inch. He could see his assailant better now, broad and ugly faced, flat nosed, a grin of yellowed teeth, wearing a tailored blue suit. The man’s powerful hands clutched at his clothes, sitting him upright like a mannequin on the bed's edge.
His neck was sideways, looking at the other figure. You’re the son of a bitch that shot Jeanine! The same man stood in front of him, small, clad in black, a short moustache, and the dark countenance of a killer.
The little man's Southern accent was heavy as he spoke, “Well, asshole that saved the world … look what you done gone and got yourself into. You killed yer girlfriend and killed yerself.”
WHAT!? Nate tried to shake his head, but couldn’t.
The man’s face was inches from his, and Nate could see his own watery eyes in the man’s dark sunglasses. The man’s breath was pure tobacco, and he could see the man’s jutting lower lip.
“Now, why would the jackass that saved the world do something like that?”
He could feel his hair being pulled back as his head was being shaken for him. I didn’t kill anybody! I’m not killing myself! Please don’t kill me!
His head was let go as the little man stepped away and sat in a chair in front of him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry so bad, beg for his life or anything, but he couldn’t do either.
His captor continued, “You see boy, you did save the world, and that pissed a lot of people off. I think you know who I’m talking about. You know that den of world leaders that patted you on the back and gave you a bunch of bullshit accommodations …”
Nate thought he blinked, but he wasn’t sure.
“… Yep, you might look dumb, but I knew you weren’t. I tried to tell them. We should have killed you the day we found you, but they needed someone to make them look good. Stupid politicians …”
What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything! Oh God—please don’t let him kill me!
“… and sure, rich jerkoffs like you get bored sometimes and start getting too nosey. The last thing we need, or the World Humanitarian Society rather, is the man who saved the world pronouncing conspiracy theories …”
The man was straddling the kitchen chair, as causal as if he’d been conversing with his best friend. He watched as the little man spit dark juice into his favorite coffee cup.
“You couldn’t be happy, like a fattened calf, could ya boy. All the money, fame, glory and poontang couldn’t satisfy your quest for why things happened. Things people don’t give a shit about anymore. No—you had to lump yourself in with all the other nut cases out there, and figure out where the zombies came frum.”
The man pinched his fingers almost together, inches from his face.
“You got this close,” the man said in a dry hiss.
Nate could see the other, big man cross his path and begin moving something on the bed behind him. A bottle of something rattled near his ears. There were sirens somewhere, as well as other sounds intermingling with the heavy rain and rolling thunder.
What is happening? Dude, I don’t know that much. I can’t prove anything. Please don’t kill me! You don’t have to kill me!
He saw the seated man pull out a pistol, automatic and nickel plated. The gun looked like a shiny club in the man’s small hand. He envisioned Jeanine’s head blowing open like a bloody watermelon again. Please not me! Please not me! Dear God, please not me!
“Yeah boy, it’s time to tie up the loose ends.”
The small man stood up and pulled the slide on his weapon.
Shick–tick!
Nate could see the man twist a silencer onto the gun barrel as his adversary stepped out of sight. Where is he! Where is he! I don’t want to die like this. He wondered what would happen after he died. He hoped the stories he heard as a boy about Jesus were true. He had nothing else to hope for. He remembered Jeanine’s cross on his neck. Jesus save me. He didn’t want to die. Please forgive me for all the things I did and did not do. He could feel his heart
sinking.
Something cold was being pressed into his right hand. It was steel. His body was being turned around on the bed. He saw some pictures of friends and family on the dresser tops. There were pills he hadn’t seen before there, too. There was white powder in a small bag by his mirror. He caught a good look at himself as his repositioners took a pause. The big man, missing some teeth, was grinning above him as Nate stared in the mirror. He was pasty, slack-jawed and pathetic. His pupils were wide and glossy, like a zombie. The wiry Southerner stuck another needle in his arm.
“This is so they think you took all those drugs we scattered about.”
There was a slapping on his shoulder as they panned him around. A gold plated can of Mountain Dew was on his night stand. All this, over that! He was facing his pillowed headboard now. He saw Christy’s frozen stare. A thick patch of blood soaked the sheets behind her back. His arm was raised before him, a gun inside his grasp. No! Please no! How can you be so cruel! This can’t be real! I didn’t do anything! I saved the world!
“Be thankful Son, you could have died a zombie. Heh. Heh.”
CHAPTER 20
Guthrie, WV
His invincibility complex had taken over. Every devious plan had worked so far. Spinning around in the security desk chair, Jimmy shouted at the top of his lungs.
“I’m the next Nate McDaniel! I’m the King! The world is mine!” He let out a high pitched ‘WOOOOOO’ like a rock star.
The monitors provided humorous activity as he watched his brother pound on the elevator door inside the garage. Thinks he’s so smart. We’ll see. His stepfather Stanley, still in the basement lab, was oblivious to the chaos as he attempted to waltz with Jimmy’s undead mother. Scratch him mom! Bite him! He hated Stanley as much as the rest, but mainly because of his brother. His stepfather had always been good to him. They'd had good times fishing and playing ball, but he didn’t remember those days anymore.
Jimmy was now consumed with the bankroll he would get when he turned over the XT Serum. But that wouldn’t happen until his secret employers had some proof it worked. That was where Louie came in.