The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones (26 page)

“I’ve got it,” Secretary Walhorn said. He was having an eureka moment. “Bend, Oregon. There are two roads that go in, two roads that go out. To the west are mountains, impenetrable by foot, and to the east are deserts. There’s a classified military base nearby that can provide logistical support.”

“Bend, Oregon,” President Angus said. “I was there once, about ten years ago. It was a ski trip. Wonderful people out there.”

“I think we’ve got our place,” Secretary White said. She scribbled a couple more notes. “Bend, Oregon. When do we begin?”

“Within twenty four hours,” Boul said. “We can import a sample from our operational headquarters in Beijing. You must understand that this worm produces symptoms that completely alters the biology of your race. Within a short period of time a cannibalistic instinct develops. After a few weeks, the urge to eat human flesh becomes so strong that one is unable to recognize the human that the infected subject once was. Eventually, the subject is transformed into an entity that we accept as being fully Orobu. They become more than just a cannibal. They are welcomed into the fold of our race.”

Radoula interrupted. “They’re after us,” she said. The giant rubbed her temples. She looked distressed. “They’ve made their attack.”

President Angus looked concerned. “What attack? Who are you talking about?”

Radoula wouldn’t go into details. She sensed rebellion. The force was strong, and it was emanating from something new, something not quite Orobu.

“Are we all in agreement, then?” Boul asked.

“We understand the consequences,” Secretary White said. “We have all studied the dossier on the Orobu. We are prepared for assimilation.”

Radoula shook her head. “But you’ve seen nothing,” she said. “You’ll understand nothing until this curse has been unleashed.”

Chapter Fourteen

Outlaws

The two soldiers remained silent on the way to El Sagrado’s apartment. Jones thought long and hard about the sacrifices he had made for Vanessa. They got married when they were eighteen. High school sweethearts. Two years later Vanessa was pregnant with Emma Jo. Jones enlisted in the army the next day. He knew that was the only way that he could provide for his family. He couldn’t afford an education. And there was no way that he was going to work construction his whole life like his father did, only to end up a fifty year old drunk with herniated discs and arthritis.

Jones still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Emma Jo was in China. He wished that he could wrap his arms around his baby girl that very moment and give her the biggest papa bear hug she ever had. He closed his eyes and thought back to the last moments he shared with her. Standing in line at Dairy Queen, waiting for their Dilly Bars, making fun of the old couple in front of them that couldn’t hear the cashier.

Now something inside of him was changing. His head pounded with idiot pain. The taste for human flesh had become something of an obsession. Jones gritted his teeth and white knuckled the steering wheel. He was bound and determined to find his daughter, and resist the curse that had befallen him. Nothing would stop him from saving Vanessa so she could give birth to his son.

Wimpy didn’t have much to live for. He watched the streets of Los Angeles fade past him in a blur and thought about how empty his life really was. He had graduated high school down in Fort Smith, Arkansas and worked at a paper factory for six months. He’d get drunk with his buddies and ended up messing around with the plant supervisor’s daughter. Once she spilled the beans, he was fired the next day. That afternoon he signed up for the United States Army, and hadn’t looked back since.

He loved his comrades. He knew deep down in his gut that he’d die for any of them. Wimpy looked over at Jones. The Sarge was lost in his own contemplation, chain smoking, with steel resolve building in his eyes. He admired Sergeant Jones. He was like an honorable father with a hellish mean streak. Wimpy knew that Jones would die for him if it came down to it.

“About before,” Wimpy said. “I just didn’t think we’d be shooting cops.”

Jones didn’t bat an eye. His eyes were like lasers on the road. “I don’t plan on killing any more.”

Wimpy wasn’t consoled. The choice to come out to Los Angeles and help Jones find his family just made sense to him. But the whole situation was growing darker by the hour. “How much further to Sagrado’s?”

Jones gestured his head to the right. “Just up the block here,” he said. “We’re back in the barrio, no mistake about that.”

A group of young Mexican kids stood on the sidewalk and stared down the Jeep as it slowed. An
abuela
 walking her pet chihuahua stopped to stare, too. The whole barrio stared.

“We don’t belong around here,” he said. “I love it.”

Wimpy laughed. “Reminds me of Baghdad.”

Jones laughed with him as he brought the Jeep to a stop. “This place is a helluva lot worse.”

The two soldiers stepped out of the Jeep like they owned the barrio. They went to the back of the Jeep and slowly dragged the zombie’s limp body out. They sweated and swore as they drug him across the pot holed street and through the dry, dog shit stained grass of El Sagrado’s apartment building. Jones looked up and noticed that the apartment building was called The Pantheon.

“Cursed by the gods,” he said.

Wimpy laughed. He looked down the street and it seemed like everybody had turned out of their rooms, apartments, and houses to see what was going on. Little did anybody know that the two soldiers were dragging an actual zombie through the streets. A couple young kids rode their bicycles in circles around the soldiers and the giant.

“
El gigante, el gigante
,” they chanted.

“
El gigante
, blaaaaah!” Jones tried to scare the kids off. They just laughed and kept heckling.

Before the soldiers got up to the main gate of the apartment building, a deep voice hollered out for them. They looked up ahead. At the gate stood a midget. He had curly, greasy hair, a couple gold chains with crucifixes dangling, and half his teeth were gone.

“El Sagrado,” the guy said with a thick, deep Mexican accent. “At your service. Come along, soldiers.”

Jones looked back at Wimpy. “A fucking midget?”

Wimpy just shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Isn’t this short fuck gonna help us carry this body?” Jones complained.

El Sagrado disappeared behind the apartment’s steel gate. The soldiers followed with the body. Once inside the apartment building’s courtyard, which had a dry fountain at its center, they heard a whistle from up ahead. El Sagrado’s apartment was at the back of the courtyard. The two soldiers passed several stucco apartment buildings and entered El Sagrado’s pad.

The apartment was musty and smelled of bong water, tequila, and greasy tacos. Stacks of cash were haphazardly littered around the apartment. The TV blared a Mexican soap opera. Jones started keeping a mental tally of how many firearms he counted in El Sagrado’s living room. He stopped at fifteen.

Jones dropped his half of the zombie. Wimpy followed suit. The two soldiers breathed a sigh of relief and took a seat on the couch.

“Want tequila?” El Sagrado asked.

“That sounds great,” Wimpy said.

“It’s no time for tequila,” Jones said. “It’s time for business.”

The midget grabbed three pint glasses and filled them each half way with the clear tequila. “You
gringos
 drink before business,” El Sagrado said. “And then we say a prayer.” The midget hobbled around the kitchen and into the living room. He set the glasses in front of the soldiers. “Go on,” he said. “
Vamonos
. Let’s drink.”

Wimpy had a shit eating grin on his face. “Orders are orders.”

“Fucking meal worms,” Jones said.

The three men guzzled down their tequila.

“
Refresco
,” the midget said. “Jesus bless this day.”

“We got your zombie,” Jones said. He never really enjoyed the taste of tequila. Something rotten about it. “So now it’s time to help us out.”

El Sagrado shook his head. He lifted one of the crucifixes from his chest and kissed it. “Only Jesus helps,” he said. “Ask Jesus.”

Jones was pissed. His neck twitched as he held down his anger. He had just put some damn good men on the line to get this zombie. He had killed a cop that was just doing her job. Jesus had nothing to do with this equation. Jones fought the urge to rip into the midget’s pudgy body and stuff his flesh down his throat. Jones stood up from the couch and towered above El Sagrado. “Get us to China you little fuck.”

El Sagrado backed away. “You brought the giant,” he said. “I can get you to China. But have you heard the news?”

Jones wasn’t in the mood to mess around. “Cut the shit Sagrado,” he said. “I don’t need to hear the news.”

“All the planes are cancelled,” Sagrado said. “Nobody can leave the state. Nobody can leave the country. They know you’ve got this
monstruo
. And now they’re not happy.”

Jones picked up the remote control from the couch and flipped to a news station. El Sagrado was right. The newscaster said that a biological terror was spreading across the United States. People in New York City and Bend, Oregon were turning into raging cannibals. The newscast played a clip of an attack. Jones recognized one of the attackers. It was Penny.

“Slap me twice and call me Sally,” Jones said.

The video clip didn’t identify the woman, but it was Penny. Thirty minutes ago she rampaged down Wall Street, ripping up investment banker flesh and stuffing it down her gullet. She killed seventeen before being brought down. The news didn’t indicate if she was dead or alive.

“This worm, it’s part of them.” El Sagrado kicked the zombie in the head. “I’ve got friends, they told me. With this worm, these
gigantes
will take over the world.”

Jones felt his heart thud against his ribs. His fear was confirmed. His stomach turned and growled. He wanted to puke. He had to get out of the country and to China before it was too late. He wouldn’t have much time. The infection was growing, both within himself, and out there.

The news said that reports of the cannibalistic phenomenon had surfaced in London, Rome, Buenos Aires, and Nairobi. Jones bit his lip and punched the air. There wasn’t much time at all.

“I brought you the giant,” Jones said with urgency. “Now you get me to China.” He withdrew his pistol and steadied the aim on El Sagrado. “I shoot to kill,” Jones said. “And I aim to shoot.”

“Go down to the docks,” Sagrado said. “Down to Long Beach. Look for Shanghai Ltd. They work with Los Zetas. They ship us ephedrine, along with some other loot. They’ll be headed off soon. Customs doesn’t search them. They’re beyond the law. I have friends there. They will get you to China.”

Wimpy sat on the couch sipping on his tequila. He paused from his drink to jot down what El Sagrado was saying.

Suddenly, a loud series of knocks sounded at the door.

El Sagrado had a knowing look on his face. “They’re here,” he said. He threw back the rest of his tequila and grimaced. “
Dios mio, dios mio
. They’re here.”  

The three men hurriedly chose their weapons. Jones picked up an AK-47. El Sagrado kept his 12 gauge semi-automatic Benelli shotgun, and steadied it on the door. Wimpy held two pistols, an M9 and a .45 S&W. There was enough firepower trained on the door to take down a horse, camel, and an elephant.

The men waited for the break in. Sweat broke on their brows. El Sagrado’s grip on the shotgun was starting to falter. His shaky, short arms couldn’t support the weight of the 12 gauge for much longer. There was another loud bang at the door. The monsters began kicking it. The reinforced steel door had several deadbolts that El Sagrado secured after inviting the two soldiers in.

Another kick to the door. Jones breathed slow and deep. His reflexes were ready to pounce. Once that door was down, he’d level everything coming through it. The zombies didn’t stand a chance.

One more knock. This time much gentler. Wimpy thought that this might all be a distraction. “Is there another entrance?” he asked Sagrado.

“No other entrance,” Sagrado said. “There’s the window in the bathroom. They couldn’t fit through that.”

A fly landed on Wimpy’s cheek. He shook his head and shooed it off with a gust of exhalation.

Just then an explosion went off in the middle of the room. The giants were breaking through from above. The center of the ceiling came crashing down. Jones was knocked down, and he lost his hold on the assault rifle. The room filled with debris and dust. Jones scanned the scene and counted three zombies dressed in their characteristic black fatigues.

Wimpy was far enough away from the crash to be left standing. A primordial groan swelled in his gut as he unleashed the fury of his pistols on the giants. “Got one!” he shouted. “Monsters will die!”

Jones looked over to where El Sagrado had been standing. He was no longer there. One of the giants had scooped the midget up. Sagrado flailed around in its arms. His shotgun was nowhere to be seen. Jones knew that El Sagrado didn’t have much of a chance of surviving. Jones had to act quick to save him.