Floyd & Mikki (Book 2): Zombie Slayers (Dawn of the Living) (9 page)

The helmets turned out to be even more advanced than either Floyd or Mikki had originally thought. Mikki was wearing the helmet when they climbed down the ladder and it automatically adjusted to the lower light. She told Floyd to close the hatch and power off the internal lights. The helmet automatically switched to night vision mode. She could see everything clearly (although with a greenish tint) and Floyd’s body lit up on the screen up like a Christmas tree.

Screen wasn’t even the right word. Even though the image lit up internally, it was projected in such a way that it seemed as if you were looking out at the world through your own eyes. Eyes with enhanced zoom and infrared capabilities, that is. As Mikki looked at Floyd, a tiny computer-generated question mark floated in the air with an arrow pointing at his glowing body for some reason. Mikki tried looking away, zooming in, and even turned on all the lights to cancel the infrared, but the floating question mark remained. She removed the helmet and it automatically powered off.

“Weird,” was all she could say.

She let Floyd play with it a while, as she suited up in her own helmet and gear and headed out to find her sniper rifle. She retrieved it pretty quickly and inspected it for damage. There was no need to worry. It had landed on top of some shrubbery and was none the worse for wear. She surveyed the area through the scope again one last time before joining Floyd inside Behemoth.

Mikki closed and locked the hatch, and Floyd suited up in all his gear as well. She wanted to wear the new helmet but Floyd insisted she wait. For now, they needed the two-way radio communications in the headsets. He said there seemed to be radio communication in the new helmets as well, but they would need to get another one before they ditched the old helmets. As usual, Floyd made sense. As usual, Mikki hated that.

Scanning the area one more time with the vehicle cameras, Floyd drove back through the water and up onto land, stopping in the middle of a parking lot. There was nothing moving anywhere within sight, but given their recent experiences, the two were still scared to death. They half expected a platoon of Super Z’s to drop from the windows or pop out of some hidden trap doors in the ground.

Exiting the vehicle, Floyd headed over to the body of the nearest armored Super Z with Mikki at his side, shotguns raised. He kicked the body and got no response, so he reached down, unsnapped the helmet and pulled it off. Now
that
was an ugly face, even for a zombie. Half the things face had come off inside the helmet so Floyd shook it violently to purge it of any gore.

“Mikki, we got a bunch of alcohol wipes, don’t we?” Floyd asked, inspecting the interior.

“Sure do.”

“Great, ‘cause I’m disinfecting these things as best I can before we’re putting them on again.”

“No argument here.”

“Really? No argument? Now you’re stealin’
my
line! Who are you and what have you done with my Mikki?”

Floyd laughed, but Mikki didn’t think it was that funny. Floyd unsnapped a few buckles and downed a zipper to begin removing the Super Z’s armored jacket. Mikki asked what he was doing and Floyd explained they had lost all their spare battle gear when Freedom blew up. Besides, this armor seemed at least as good as what they were wearing. The motocross armor was still pretty serviceable, but after continuous wear with minimal showers, they were more smelling than a little gamey. They almost didn’t need the sewer stink juice.

Mikki helped him strip the corpse’s corpse, and several others, as well. They each grabbed two sets of Super Z armor and helmets (four sets in all), based on approximate size, then scoured the area for anything else that could be useful. Mikki found a number of cool weapons, all useless with no ammo. The weapons they already had were top of the line (thanks to Zeke), so it would take something really special to replace what they were already using. There was no way they could fit anything else on their backs or belts.

Floyd debated taking some time to train again, but Mikki told him they already had enough training for one day—real world training. Floyd agreed, and they climbed back into the belly of their iron beast. As promised, Floyd spent the next half hour swabbing the inside of the new helmets, even though he had replaced the half-face goopy one with a cleaner version he had retrieved. The armored jackets and pants didn’t need cleaning, since the Super Z’s had worn uniforms underneath. Finally, Floyd tossed a helmet to Mikki and donned one himself.

The internal screen came to life, and Floyd could see Mikki clearly. “Cool!” he said.

“Hey! I heard that!” came Mikki’s voice in his helmet. “Looks like these things do got radios. And they work! Now
that’s
interesting.”

“What’s interesting, Mikki?”

“Well, before, when I looked at you, there was a weird floating question mark pointing at you. Now, you look kind of green and the question mark is gone.”

“Hmm, you’re right. I don’t see any kind of a question mark. These things must identify whoever is wearing a helmet as a friend.”

“Damn, Floyd! If that’s right, then them things out there will think we’re one of ‘em if we wear these helmets!”

“Maybe. I don’t trust anything with these guys, but that would sure be great. I bet as soon as we open fire on them, though these helmets will identify us as an enemy, though. That’s how IFF usually works.”

“IFF?”

“Identify Friend or Foe. Technology used in fighter planes. Computer recognizes a signal that tells who the friends are and who the enemies are. They must have put the same kind of tech into these helmets.”

“But wait a minute. If we can hear each other, doesn’t that mean the Super Z’s can hear us too? Or would they even know what we’re sayin’?”

Floyd took off his helmet and asked Mikki for hers. She set it on the console next to him as he inspected the inside again.

“Don’t you always carry a screwdriver with you, Mikki?”

“Sure, in my backpack. Hang on a sec.” She dug in the pack for a bit and handed it to him. “Here ya go. If you need a flathead instead of the Phillips, just pull out the tip, turn it around and put it back in.”

“Thanks. I need the Phillips head. These helmets must have a way to set the radio frequency. Can’t have a hundred guys babbling in your ear at the same time. Each unit must have its own frequency, so we’ll set one for ourselves. Yeah, this is probably it. This will either work or it’ll fry out the whole helmet.”

“Well, there are more out there, if we need ‘em.” As Floyd continued to tinker around the inside of the helmet, Mikki babbled a bit. “Hey, Floyd! Did you know that Henry F. Phillips invented the Phillips screwdriver in 1934? He bought a design from an engineer guy he knew and modified it a bit. He started a whole company just to sell screws and screwdrivers.”

“And that is far more about it than I ever wanted to know.”

Floyd finished unscrewing a tiny panel and popped it out. Inside was a set of eight dip switches. He wrote down the setting, then flipped a few to change it and put the helmet back on. He gave the other helmet to Mikki to put on and tried speaking but Mikki clearly couldn’t hear him. Taking her helmet back, he repeated the process using the same dip switch settings, and she was able to hear him again.

“There’s over a million combinations,” he explained through the helmet radio. “So it’s not very likely anyone’s gonna hear us now. We don’t know if these Super Z’s understand English anymore, but no sense taking any chances. Let’s just hope I didn’t screw up the IFF. Sure would be nice if we could walk through a crowd of those things and not have them try to kill us.”

“You got that right! So can we keep ‘em now?”

“Oh, hell yeah. We’re keeping these.”

“Yeehaw! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Floyd was glad that the helmets seemed to have a built-in audio limiter as well. Otherwise, he was certain that Mikki’s Rebel Yell would have blown out his eardrums. He fired up Behemoth and drove over to the barricaded building.

“OK, time to pop open that soda can,” Floyd suggested.

“One can opener, comin’ up,” Mikki responded, aiming a cannon shell straight at the door and firing.

In an instant, the door and everything piled up against it was gone, blown to bits. Floyd drove right through the opening, making it even bigger as Behemoth smashed through what was left of the wall. Mikki reloaded the cannon, as Floyd parked in the middle of a room barely bigger than their vehicle.

“All clear, Floyd,” Mikki reported, after scanning the monitors again.

“OK, let’s do this.”

There was enough room to open the hatch, because the ceilings were surprisingly high. The compound was a series of long, interconnected, one-story buildings, but there was no way to know if access to any of the other buildings was blocked, or what they might find inside. Taking no chances, Floyd and Mikki loaded up with weapons and ammo before jumping down to begin their search. They also closed the hatch behind them, just in case.

It took a little while for the two Zombie Hunters to get used to their new helmets. If they looked at something too long or the wrong way, the helmet cam automatically zoomed in on it. It took some practice to figure out how to zoom out again, or look somewhere else using just their eyes. On the other hand, everything was in sharp focus, and they could even see each other’s warm bodies through walls or doors. Unfortunately, zombies weren’t warm, so that alone wouldn’t prevent any unnecessary surprises, but it did allow them to keep better track of each other.

The helmets also automatically highlighted potential threats. Upon opening the nearest door, small circles on the ground lit up red, indicating mines that had been left behind throughout the hallway. Since even Mikki had no idea how to diffuse a mine, they backed away and fired pistols at them to blow them all up. Best to save the more powerful ammo for later. They headed on down the hallway with Bonnie and Clyde leading the way once the hallway was clear.

Walking slowly, they opened every door one at a time. All the rooms were empty. Reception rooms, meeting rooms, break room, offices—all completely devoid of humanity (living or non). At the end of the hallway was a corridor to another building, similarly barricaded from the other side. Mikki blew a hole in the reinforced glass door with a couple of shotgun blasts and dropped in a grenade. Stepping back, the ordnance did its job, blowing the door off its hinges and clearing away some of the barricade.

After pulling debris out of the way, they entered into a T-shaped hallway. The way ahead was blocked from the side they were on, so it was clear they needed to turn left down the long corridor that was similarly mined. Several well-place pistol shots later and the corridor was safe to navigate.

Apparently, this was a connecting corridor, a there were no rooms on either side. It led to a four-way intersection of hallways, one of which (on the left) was again blocked from the other side. Once again, they breached the barrier, but this time, there were no mines in the corridor. If anyone was left alive, they would have to be in here.

Stepping through and over the rubble, Floyd and Mikki paused to survey the area. The moved to the first door on the left and opened it. Nothing seemed to be inside. Out of nowhere, they heard a voice call, “Grenade out!” the clatter of metal skittering across the tile floor came in their direction. The bomb lit up like a bouncing red ball in their helmet display with a flashing red exclamation point floating in the air next to it.

“Shit!” the two cried in unison. They dove through the door and hit the ground just as the grenade went off. They heard some movement from somewhere down the hall. Mikki crawled to the opening and poked her head out, low to the ground. They saw two of the doors at the far end of the hall were open. She also saw someone pop around the corner and fire an automatic weapon in her direction. She pulled back into the room as a spray of bullets ripped through the wall and door jamb.

Before she ducked back in, she saw three human figures in the helmet through the walls off the corridors at the far end. Three
warm
human figures. The infrared images were colored red instead of green and an exclamation point floated above each one of them, indicating they were enemies.
No shit!
She didn’t need some damn helmet to tell her that!

“Knock it off you assholes!” she yelled, but through the helmet, only Floyd could hear her. “Three warm bodies down the hall, Floyd. Reckon they’re human.”

“Screw this!” Floyd grumbled. “Mikki, give me a pair of your panties.”

“Say what now?” she asked, completely shocked.

“Give me a pair of your panties, goddammit! I know you carry spare panties in your backpack! Just do it!”

She pulled off her pack and dove into it as a grenade bounced in through the door. Floyd dove for it and tossed it out again just before it went off. What was left of the wall absorbed most of the blast, but the concussion still sent him flying backwards.

“What color you want?” Mikki asked as he lay on the ground. “I got pink, blue—”

“I don’t care!” Floyd bitched, as he got to his feet. He reached over and grabbed the pink pair out of her hand, hung them from Clyde’s barrel, and stuck the shotgun out the door, waving the panties like a flag.

“What the hell is that?” The voice came from somewhere in the hallway. “Son of a bitch! Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Who are you?”

Daring to pull off her helmet now that the torrent of bullets had stopped, Mikki screamed, “We’re human! Ain’t no zombies here, got it? We’re tryin’ to rescue you morons!”

“Rescue?” came the voice again. There were a few more voices discussing something down the hall but they couldn’t make out the words until one said, “You’re a girl?”

Floyd had pulled off his helmet as well, by this time. “One man, one woman, and one giant Obama fighting vehicle! Can we come out now without you trying to shoot our asses off?”

“Yeah,” Mikki added sarcastically, “We’d really kinda appreciate that!”

“Well, I mean…uh…sure! Yeah! Come on out! Sorry!”

Mikki put the helmet on again before poking her head through a hole in the wall. There were three men in clean navy uniforms with machine guns standing at the end of the hall. She stepped out into the hallway, holding her hands in the air still holding Bonnie in one of them. All three mouths flew open. Even with her head completely covered, there was no mistaking Mikki’s feminine form, even in the new Super Z armor. Floyd stepped out behind her with his hands in the air as well.

The three sailors held on to their weapons. “Don’t come any closer! Take off those helmets!”

Floyd took off his helmet. When Mikki took hers off, letting her long blonde hair fall about her face and shoulders, the men didn’t know what to think. One looked like he was about to pass out.

“I’m Floyd. This is Mikki.”

“And we ain’t zombies, dammit!”

Finally, it dawned on the men what was happening. The word “rescue” finally clicked in their brains. They all screamed and high-fived each other and ran over to Floyd and Mikki, hugging them and thanking them. They liked hugging Mikki better.

“We are soooo sorry we shot at you!”

“Yeah, but those helmets! Only the Reavers wear those! And they’re all diseased, or …whatever!”

“Undead,” Floyd explained.

“Undead?” one of the sailors queried.

“Zombies!” Floyd explained further.

“Super Zombies,” Mikki added. “We just call ‘em Super Z’s for short. Much worse than your average creeper that’s out there.”

“Zombies? Really! We thought that was a bunch of bullshit. We knew people were sick with some kind of disease, but zombies? No way!”

“Way!” Mikki insisted. “So who are you guys anyway?”

“Lieutenant Carlson, Ma’am. Gary Carlson. This is Ensign Lokepa Kahanamoku.”

“You can call me, Lolo. That’s Hawaiian for crazy,” Lokepa explained with a big grin. He was short and stocky with powerful arms and a dark Polynesian complexion.

“Lolo is one hell of a fighter,” Gary explained. “Navy SEAL, like me. Chief Petty Officer Patrick Keenan here is one hell of a mechanic. Pretty much nothing he can’t fix or jerry rig together. We call him MacGyver.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he affirmed.

MacGyver had bright red hair while Gary was blonde. The lieutenant was also a bit older than the others, but none were over the age of 26. Even so, all three were powerfully built and impeccably dressed in clean uniforms. Freshly shaved, with trim crew cuts. Mikki got a tingly feeling just looking at them, but she grabbed on to Floyd’s arm to steady herself. She already had her man, and she was quite happy with him. But still…woof! So much testosterone in such a tiny area!

“Who are these Reavers you mentioned?” Floyd asked.

“Elite Special Forces unit. Taken from the best each service had to offer: SEALS, Rangers, Delta Force, AFSOC. The best of the best.”

“Seems like you guys are the best of the best now,” Mikki observed. “After all, you beat ‘em.”

“Well, not really. We got stuck in here, didn’t we? And there’s a whole lot more of them out there.”

“Not so many anymore, right Mikki?” Floyd commented with a sly grin.

“That’s right, Floyd.”

“So, what’s your story? What branch of the service are you in?” Lieutenant Carlson asked.

“Well, I’m former Army. Mikki, here, is her own branch. We fought our way across half the United States to get to New California Haven. Now we’re heading back to pick up some other survivors and escort them there. We just do whatever we can to stay alive and kill anything that should have been dead already.”

Floyd explained about NCH and the Emerald Valley Campground, and filled them in on a couple of their adventures. Mikki jumped in to tell the story of Cement Head with great enthusiasm. The navy guys were shocked that civilians with no real training could have survived so well. Floyd chalked it up to a lot of dumb luck, but Mikki bragged that luck had nothing to do with it. They were just that damn good! None of the three navy men doubted it. After all, these two were the only ones to make it past the Reavers outside.

Gary explained how he and Ensign Lolo were sent to Norco for training to join the Reavers. MacGyver had maintained the motor pool (he couldn’t wait to see the Obama vehicle), but he was also a trained electrician and engineer. As Floyd and Mikki had suspected, however, something went terribly wrong within a week after everyone received their injections.

At first, they only had to worry about the occasional diseased civilian wandering into the facility. Unlike most military bases, this one wasn’t surrounded by a high fence or anything. The place was chosen as one the public would least expect for such special training operations. Secrecy was crucial to prevent panic. Training took place indoors and out of sight.

Then, more and more civilians wandered into the area, attacking anyone they could reach. The initial response was to try to reason with them, then to arrest and quarantine them, but there was no reasoning with them. When they bit and infected some of the personnel on base, the commander gave the order: shoot to kill on sight.

Problem was, you could shoot them but they wouldn’t die. Just like Muslim Moro warriors in the Southern Philippines in the early 1900’s, they were so frenzied in battle that you could shoot them several times, but they’d still keep on coming. The only sure way to stop them was to shoot them in the head.

Then at least half the base got sick and many died. It wasn’t until much later that they figured out the injections might be the cause. Slowly, everything devolved into chaos. Soldiers started turning on each other. Those who had been bitten often changed into…something else. Most had to be killed but a few, a very few, did not.

Lolo was one of those who had survived being bitten. The fighting had gotten fierce. When he ran out of ammo, Lolo screamed a blood-curdling battle cry and dove into the middle of a crowd, punching, kicking, and snapping necks with his bare arms. He received several bites, but he kept on going, determined to protect his friends for as long as possible. When it was over, every diseased attacker lay motionless on the ground. Lolo stood alone.

Exhausted, he made it back inside. There had been 12 survivors originally. Several others had been bitten and they all had turned, requiring the others to put them down like a dog with rabies. They tied Lolo to a bed and kept watch on him for several days. At first he didn’t mind and slept, taking it with good humor, as if it were a personal vacation. After a while, however, he got tired of being tied down (literally), and having to go to the bathroom under armed guard. They finally left him untied, but it was weeks before they stopped posting a guard on him, 24 hours a day.

Several more people were lost in several more attacks, so the survivors eventually blocked all doors and waited for some kind of rescue. And waited. And waited. Tensions ran high. Two men got into an argument over toothpaste and ended up shooting each other. One more committed suicide. Now only Gary, Lolo and MacGyver were left. They transferred all the dead bodies to a makeshift morgue and moved into the supply building, where they had access to food, clothing, beds, weapons, and ammunition. There was no power, but the base had clean, running water.

“So where’s this Obama vehicle?” MacGyver asked with a big grin.