Zombiemandias (Book 2): In the Year of Our Death Read online

  He kept a bicycle his whole life. Not the little blue one; that one was too small for him after a few years. Georgie never learned to drive and never wanted to. He failed high school his last year and didn’t care; he rode his bike to the nearby pizza shop and got a job as a delivery boy. Even though he wasn’t smart, it didn’t take long for him to learn the city like the back of his hand. He knew it better than drivers did, because drivers couldn’t fit in some alleys or cut through certain lots. He was eventually given a supervising position, and it was his job to draw up routes and tell the other delivery boys how to deliver faster.

  But that was all taken from him as well, one summer. People started attacking each other, even more than he used to hear about on the news. Soon the news was gone, and almost everybody was the bitey type.

  Georgie never really felt threatened. He was big and strong, and if he was on a bicycle he was fast, no matter what anybody had said about him not being swift.

  He spent a while riding his bike across the country. He rarely got tired, and he could find food and water easily enough.

  In his travels, he met people. Soon he travelled so much, he sometimes met the same people over again. One day, one of them asked him to carry something to someone else.

  He was a delivery boy all over again. He didn’t deliver pizza anymore, mostly he delivered news and information. He always made people write it down because he couldn’t remember so well, but he never failed a delivery. Someone eventually asked if he wanted some help, and then it was like he was a supervisor again. He would draw up maps and routes, ones that spanned huge parts of the country, and he usually did the longest and hardest routes himself. He was faster, and besides, he liked the long rides. He didn’t get paid, but not getting looked at funny anymore made him feel just as good as getting paid ever did. Maybe better.

  The stars were out as he cycled along a desert road. He was headed for one of his best customers, the radio man. Georgie liked him; his name was Layne, and he always invited Georgie in to sit down and have some food and water, and one time when Georgie was really tired Layne let him sleep in his building with his friends. Once, he even let Georgie talk on the radio, but it felt weird to Georgie because he just talked into a microphone and couldn’t see if anybody was listening. But after that, his business boomed more than ever.

  Georgie had a package for Layne, and a few notes of news and messages. He didn’t even read them anymore, he just took the notes from people and brought them to whoever they were for.

  Georgie figured he’d reach Layne by the next afternoon. He was making record time; he wasn’t scheduled to meet with any of the other couriers for a few days. Sometimes people had things they needed delivered along another route, so one of Georgie’s coworkers had suggested they make meeting points where they could exchange packages and get them on the right path. Georgie had picked the places himself, and people thanked him even though it wasn’t really his idea. Some people even told him he was a genius, but he knew he wasn’t, not really.

  He was just strong, and he loved to ride his bicycle, that’s all.

  6

  In Hoover Dam

  The word “scientist” often conjures images of people in bright white lab coats with clean-cut hair, thick glasses, and pens attached to their pockets.

  Stephen Nelson was a scientist, and on this particular day, he was wearing faded blue jeans with several holes in them, and a black AC/DC shirt. The average person had the glasses pegged at least; he could see little more than colorful blurs without them. He wasn’t old, but most of his hair had been gone for years, and the rest he kept no longer than stubble.

  Nelson monitored an array of equipment before him. Everything was in order, which was great, but also boring. The fact was, Hoover Dam practically ran itself. It rarely required his intervention.

  The radio was on, as usual, and emitting only static. Eventually Layne’s voice clicked on, and he went on at great length about hope and helping each other and all kinds of things that made Nelson roll his eyes.

  He had met Layne twice. Layne had asked if there were any scientists out there who could help him. Nelson was a physicist first and an electrical engineer second, but “scientist” was a vague enough term, and he happened to be in the area.

  From the beginning, Nelson wasn’t fond of Layne. Over the radio he had given a time and place for any “scientists” to gather, and Layne didn’t even show up. Instead he’d sent one of his friends to escort Nelson (no one else showed up, either) to the radio station after promising to never reveal its location. After that, Layne had asked Nelson if he could keep Hoover Dam running so Layne’s “New Los Angeles” would have power.

  Nelson could’ve asked what made Layne deserve electricity when so few others had it. He definitely should’ve asked what kind of help Layne would give him. In the end he’d agreed, and Layne had sent a group of his friends to help Nelson clear the dam of any remaining zombies. Layne stayed back at the radio station.

  Nelson thought it must be nice to sit behind a microphone and ask the world of people without lifting more than a finger to turn the microphone on. He sighed. At least he would be safe in the dam.

  The second time Nelson met Layne was on one of the few occasions in which he left the dam at all. He went to Layne to ask for compensation. Layne granted this, but again stayed safe in New L.A. while his friends accompanied Nelson to the nearest Guitar Center, where Nelson found the only payment he asked in return for operating the dam: A ‘72 Telecaster Deluxe. One of Layne’s friends, a young guy Nelson couldn’t recall the name of, had told him to go for a Les Paul instead, saying the best guitarists used them, but Nelson had found what he was looking for. Besides, as he told the kid, the best guitarists used Telecasters, too. Jimmy Page had used one for “Stairway to Heaven”, and legend had it Hendrix borrowed a friend’s Telecaster to record the solo in “Purple Haze”.

  Whatever the case, he had also grabbed an amp and enough strings to hang a horse, and Layne’s friends had helped him get it all back to the dam. It was easy; as it turned out, zombies didn’t last very long in the desert. Nelson didn’t even feel compelled to bar the facility’s many doors.

  He had dabbled in music before, but never had much time for it. Now he had all the time in the world, and he spent most of it playing his guitar. He wasn’t very good and he couldn’t sing at all, but there was no one around to criticize him, so day after day the halls were filled with the sounds of his Telecaster, and occasionally his off-key singing.

  When he wasn’t playing his guitar, he was usually walking around on top of the dam, staring at the water hundreds of feet below. It was a lovely sight, and it calmed him. He would usually watch until the stars came out.

  Nelson did so on this night, until he felt tired. He returned to his cot, a damned uncomfortable thing, set his glasses on the shelf nearby, and fell asleep.

  ****

  Nelson woke up when he heard what sounded like someone slamming into something. His eyes shot open, filled with the blur of shapes and colors that made up his world. A figure stood over his bed, and it had seen him move. It was upon him before he could get up, pinning him down and trying to bite. Nelson couldn’t see much, but he could tell it was a relatively new zombie; it had short hair, no beard, and its clothes were still intact.

  Nelson had it by the shoulders, keeping it from biting him. He tried to shake the sleepiness and think. He was a scientist, after all.

  So think, Nelson. Gun, right? On the shelf.

  Nelson looked over and saw his bedside unit had been tipped over. That explained the sound he’d heard. He looked at the ground and saw a dark grey shape. Nelson gave the zombie a good shove, sending it sprawling. It landed on the ground with a thin crackle. Nelson dove from his cot and grabbed the grey shape, his handgun, pointed it at the zombie, and fired. A red blur splashed behind the pale shape, and it fell to the ground and stopped moving.

  Nelson caught his breath. He set the shelf unit back, placed the
gun on it, then looked for his glasses.

  A strange sense of stupidity overcame Nelson. For a moment he didn’t move, and no thoughts entered his brain. Then came the first one: No.

  Nelson fumbled over to the pale mass on the ground. He turned the zombie over and almost screamed. The frame of his glasses was bent into an S-shape, the lenses in pieces all over the ground.

  “Fuck! God damn it!”

  His words echoed against the empty walls of Hoover Dam, as everything in his life did. When they returned to his ears, they sounded like laughter.

  Part II: A Forgotten Babylon

  7

  At the Compound

  Everyone was gathered in the mess hall. It was late morning, and Mike sat on a chair on top of a table. He did it so everyone could see and hear him, but it made him look like a makeshift king.

  “How many were there, Bailey?”

  “I never got an exact count,” Bailey said. “Not as many as us, but more than half.”

  “That’s good,” Mike said. “That’s very good. How well-stocked?”

  “I brought what I could get my hands on, but they have more.”

  “So the base is worth taking?”

  Whispers flowed through the crowd.

  “I’m not sure,” Bailey said. “We have numbers on our side, and the element of surprise, if we can get everyone past the fence before they’re on to us. But the base is a lot bigger than our compound, and there are several buildings. They’ll have a lot of places to hide.”

  “Then we’ll have to put that much more effort into seeking.” Mike stood up. “Thank you very much, Bailey. You risked your life for the information you’ve brought us. We’ll begin working out the details of the attack shortly. Everyone, be prepared. We’ll attack the Air Force base in the next few weeks.”

  Bailey didn’t mention how Gerald had shouted back at them. He promised they’d be back, so maybe the element of surprise wasn’t even there. Still, as calm as Mike might be, once he had an idea in his head, it was hard to get him to let go.

  Everyone dispersed. Bailey wondered if the group from the base had figured out they were staying just a few miles away, on the abandoned compound. Every night she wondered if she’d wake up to an attack, or if she’d wake up at all.

  That wasn’t the reason she had made her decision.

  She’d tossed it over in her head for several days. There were cons, so many of them, and the goal seemed hardly worth it. But maybe freedom tasted sweeter than it looked from afar. And if she got caught, she wasn’t giving up much of a life.

  That also wasn’t the reason she finally decided. It went back to that man’s eyes as he lay in the street, looking up at her. The way he slumped over when she killed him, but his eyes still spoke to her, still accused her and still condemned her. If freedom was another dead end, at least she’d be spared seeing his eyes every time she closed hers.

  Her day went by normally, and she acted as though nothing was different. She tried not to interact with anyone unless she had to, and she could swear they could tell something was up, but she chocked it up to paranoia.

  Sometime after midnight, Bailey got up from her cot. She went quietly, while everyone was sleeping. She wandered the few halls to the door, where two of Mike’s closest men were standing watch.

  “Go back to sleep, Bailey,” one of them said.

  “Get out of the way, Eric,” Bailey replied. “I have to take a shit.”

  “There’s a bathroom here,” the other guard said.

  “No toilet paper.”

  “Let her through, Steve,” Eric said. He turned back to Bailey. “Make it quick, okay? We really shouldn’t be letting you out. You know how Mike gets.”

  “Thanks,” Bailey said.

  “You risked your ass for us. It’s the least I could do.”

  Bailey was out the door and into the cold desert night, just like that. It went much smoother than she thought it would. She looked around. Out here, there was nothing to obstruct the stars. There wasn’t much of anything, really; just the lonely interstate with its skeleton power lines trudging along the shoulder, the compound behind her, and the desert ahead.

  And, somewhere, the Air Force base.

  Bailey took a few steps, but not toward the other building. She headed for the interstate. The rough asphalt beneath her shoe was more welcoming than she could’ve imagined.

  “Where are you going, Bailey?”

  She recognized the voice immediately. Bailey spun and saw Mike leaning against one of the power line poles.

  “Just out for a walk,” Bailey replied. Mike sighed, then approached her.

  “I always did like you, Bailey. But I could tell you weren’t one of us. I always could. You tried so hard, but you just aren’t.”

  Bailey gave him a half-hearted smile. The moon was so bright, it might’ve been early morning. “I guess the jig is up, then.”

  “Where would you go?” Mike asked.

  “Anywhere.”

  Mike grimaced. “Nowhere is safe.”

  “That isn’t true, Mike. You know that. That guy on the radio—”

  “Is a fool to think he’s safe. And anyway, you won’t find him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “He’s lived this long,” Bailey said. “There has to be other ways of getting by.”

  Mike shook his head. “I wish there were. I truly do. But I’ve seen it with my own eyes. So have you. That guy on the radio, I bet he’s no different from us. He probably kills anyone who finds out where he is.”

  “It’s a dangerous world, but it’s not an evil one.”

  Mike put an arm on Bailey’s shoulder and drew a gun from his pants. “You did so much for us. You could’ve done so much more.”

  “For what? So you could kill more people?”

  “I wish I could make you understand.”

  “Well, go ahead then. I’m not afraid to die, Mike. I never was.”

  Mike laughed and looked away. When he turned back to her, tears were streaming down his face. “That’s a lie. You were. Once.”

  Mike raised the gun and offered it to her handle-first. Bailey looked at it, looked at him. She took it tentatively, and when his hand was free, Mike hugged her.

  “You killed a man for me,” he said. “You were one of us, just once. So I’ll change my mind for you, just once.” Mike let her go. “And now we’re even. You know if I find you again out there, I have to kill you.”

  “I know,” Bailey said.

  “Good.” Mike started back toward the compound. He got off the pavement and then turned back. “I do hope I don’t find you again,” he said, and walked away.

  As Bailey headed down the interstate, a funny thought occurred to her. The coming day would have been Gerald’s turn to make dinner. Bailey had backed out of it after all, and the night was sweet, and the desert ate her laughter and the asphalt drank her tears.

  8

  In the Church of Lesser Humans

  Adam sat alone in the room he had designated as his office. The congregation was in a small theater in Bloomington called the Bismarck. Adam always caught the name of wherever they were staying, so he could thank God for the safe passage later. He even recalled a time they had spent in an abandoned circus tent, and smiled.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Adam said.

  Randolph entered the room. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening.”

  “A few of the others were talking,” Randolph said. Adam motioned for him to sit down across the desk from him, and Randolph did. “They’re wondering how we’re going to find the Great Evil One.”

  Adam leaned back. He had hoped his congregation would have a little more faith in him. He had, after all, paraded them through the streets of major cities without anyone being harmed before it was their time, a miracle on its own.

  “Do you want to know the truth, Randolph?”

  “Why would I want to know anything else?”

  “I have no idea how
we’ll find him.”

  Randolph looked around the room. “You’ll think of something,” he said at last. “I have faith.”

  Adam smiled. “I’m very glad for that, Randolph. All I know right now is that we need to go west.”

  “I just hope the others will share my faith.”

  Adam picked up a pen and clicked it a few times. “Randolph, did I ever tell you what inspired me to create the Church of Lesser Humans?”

  “Of course,” Randolph said. “You told us all.”

  “Of course. What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “What inspired you to follow me?”

  “You’ve never asked me about that before.”

  “A man’s faith is his own, as is what led him there,” Adam said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I will,” Randolph said. “You remember where it was, right?”

  Adam could list every place he had gained a follower, down to the street corner. “Florida.”

  “My family was there for vacation, we went every summer. It was supposed to be my last, I was ready to move out on my own. God had other plans. My sister Mia was one of the first to change.”

  “Ah,” Adam said. “How fortunate.”

  “Yes,” Randolph replied, but he sounded somewhat sad. “She turned my mother, my father, they turned our grandparents. I got away with my younger brother, Aaron. We stayed in a shop for about a week. I must confess, I killed several greater humans in that time.”

  “God will forgive you,” Adam said. “We were all a little confused, then. It was the Tribulation.”

  “Eventually Aaron got attacked while scavenging some supplies. He got cornered, I guess. When I got there, there was a large group surrounding him. A miracle happened. I pushed through the crowd, Adam. I just shoved past them and I picked up Aaron’s body… and I walked away. None of them touched me.”

  “Randolph… This is extraordinary.”