Machines of the Dead aza-1 Page 4

Before the media blackout had occurred, Jack sat in his room watching the news, day and night, unable to do much of anything else, except to think about Jess, crying hysterically at times. He was the only non-employee in the bunker; everyone else was there to work, helping in one way or another to find a solution. He couldn’t believe the un dead were walking the streets, attacking people. Yet, the massacre on the Brooklyn Bridge was what made him literally puke. He had witnessed the event on live television, the scene replaying itself in his mind for days afterward, even in his dreams.

  Before the blackout, people were told to stay in their homes and wait until the situation could be resolved, yet food drops were scheduled throughout the city. Riots broke out as people fought over food and water. The number of undead grew, patrolling the streets like untiring guards. People no longer wanted to leave their homes, and the food that was dropped went to waste. The few that did try for the rations, usually wound up as a meal for the undead.

  To Jack, the world looked as if it had ended.

  Chapter 6

  When Jack wasn’t learning about the bots, the city’s condition, or plans on possible solutions, he spent most of his time alone in his room. A few of the guards acted decent to him, giving him the time of day and chatting about life. Kevin Meyers, a twenty-three year old kid, was one of Jack’s favorites. Hardened in battle, the kid was still human, and seemed much more apprehensive about his stay in the lab than the other guards. Bottom line: he was worried.

  “We’re all scared, Kevin,” Jack told him, during breakfast.

  “I’m really glad you’re here, Mr. Warren.” The kid leaned in, whispering. “These other guys, they’re real hard asses. Made for this shit. It’s good to have someone I can talk with.”

  Jack smiled. “Same here, Kevin. I’m no warrior; never served in the armed forces. And I hated science in college. All I have is downtime. I can get into a good book or movie, but it only lasts so long. I feel alone here. Reynolds has been great, but he’s under a lot of pressure, busy all the time. It really is good talking with you. And if you ever have any problems or concerns, or you’re afraid to talk to anyone, please come to me.”

  “I will, Mr. Warren.”

  “Call me, Jack. Believe it or not, I’m not much older than you are. I’m 35, not 50.”

  “Okay, Jack,” the kid said, smiling.

  “You miss your family?”

  Kevin nodded.

  “Me too.”

  “Sorry about your wife.”

  “Thank you. I miss her every second of every day.”

  A few moments of awkward silence filled the air between them before Kevin spoke up.

  “Do you know about the plan to nuke the city?” Kevin asked, keeping his voice low.

  Jack put his head down for a moment. “Yes.”

  “We can’t let that happen. How would we as a nation survive such a thing? I mean, how are we going to survive what’s already happened? Millions of people are dead, walking around, looking for a bite of human flesh.”

  “We will. It’s what this country is about, and we’re no longer in it alone. The world has shrunk, and for the most part, we’re all in this together.” Patting the kid on his arm, he said, “But hey, nothing’s happened yet, so why worry? ”

  Kevin took a deep breath and shook his head. “You’ve got a real positive attitude, Jack.”

  “My wife used to say the same thing.” Jack smiled, trying to look calm, but on the inside, he felt like throwing up his breakfast. He’d been keeping it together, but when he really thought about what was happening, he almost couldn’t believe it. For the kid, he kept on with the happy charade.

  If the city remained as is, how were he and the others supposed to escape? Would the military send in an extraction team after a year’s time? And if the city was nuked, Jack was getting a chill just thinking about it, what then? The bunker was secure, the good doctor assuring Jack that the place being five stories underground and lined with two feet of lead, would survive a nuclear attack. But how would they get out without risking exposure to high amounts of radiation?

  “Kevin, mind if I ask you a question?”

  “No, shoot.”

  Jack looked around. The closest people were a few tables away and busy eating and talking amongst themselves, but he leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. “Is there another way out of here? I mean besides the topside and sewer exits?”

  “Yeah. You don’t know?”

  “Is it the security door Reynolds says is off limits? The one next to his office?”

  “No. That’s C-wing. That’s a ‘ high-clearance ’ only area. I’ve never been inside; above my pay grade, if you know what I mean.”

  Jack had been given the run of the place, having been issued a level 1 keycard that opened regular doors throughout the bunker and not the ones that led to the outside world, or to C-wing, as it was called. He wondered what was in there, but had a more pressing concern at the moment.

  “There’s a tunnel,” Kevin continued. “It leads from Reynolds’ office to somewhere outside of Manhattan. I would imagine, Brooklyn or Queens, though I don’t know for sure. Its destination is classified; again above my pay grade. In the event the city is too hot for retrieval, we go that way and walk our way out of Manhattan. It’s why none of the people down here are freaking out. They know in the back of their minds that there’s a safe way out.”

  Jack felt a little better. Selfish, but a little better. There were probably survivors in the city. For them the way out looked grim. Maybe he could somehow help save a few. Make a difference. In the bunker, he was just taking up space.

  He would add it to the list of things he needed to talk to Reynolds about.

  “Well,” Kevin said, “I better get going or I’ll be late for my shift.”

  “It was good talking to you, Kevin,” Jack said, holding out his hand to shake.

  Kevin took it. “Yeah, it sure was. See you later?”

  “Sure thing.”

  After breakfast, Jack went to talk to Reynolds, but the man was busy. He would have to wait. So he went back to his room, lay on his bed and listened to some AC/DC on the portable stereo, having downloaded a bunch of albums from some of the guards’ MP3 players.

  He still couldn’t believe his wife was dead. Hell, probably everyone he knew in the city was dead. Thank goodness, his sister, Sara, had moved out of Manhattan. He hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, wishing now that he had called to see how she was doing. Her husband, Gary, was an abusive drunk.

  One day, while Jack was visiting Sara, Gary got shit-faced drunk, calling her a dirty, cheating whore and said she was probably fucking her brother. Jack intervened, telling Gary he needed to sleep it off, but instead he grabbed Sara by the hair and said, “This is my woman; my bitch. And you can keep your god damn mouth shut as you are a visitor in my house.”

  Jack had had enough and wound up beating the shit out of Gary, sending him to the emergency room. When the police arrived, Sara said that Jack had started it and he was the one led away in handcuffs.

  That was all a year ago and he’d refused to speak with her since. She’d called a few times, but he never answered. Now he wished he had. He’d do anything to hear her voice. They had been so close growing up, then she married Gary and things changed. She was distant, hardly inviting him up to her place. She was probably too embarrassed to have him over. Now she was worried sick over him, at least he imagined she was.

  He had been so disappointed in her, having him arrested, letting that loser off. Gary was the victim, b ut the truth was, she needed help. He should’ve been there for her; gotten her away from that crazy son of a bitch. She only called the cops, because Gary had probably threatened her. That bastard was the one she had to live with. If Jack made it out of the city, no, strike that; when he made it out of the city, he’d make it his mission to get her away from that asshole husband of hers.

  Jack got up, shut the radio off and paced the room. If he didn’t know any better, he
’d say he was experiencing a little bit of cabin fever. But what could he do about it? N othing. Thinking about how to approach Dr. Reynolds, a thought popped into his head. If the man did come up with a way to fix the problem with the ENHANCE program, how was he supposed to get word to the proper authorities? T ravel through the escape tunnel and hand deliver the message? That just didn’t seem right. The man must have a way of communicating with the outside, some electronic way he didn’t want anyone to know about. So why lie about it? He would have to remember to ask the doc about it when they spoke.

  Sitting in his chair an hour later, playing Xbox, he felt more useless than ever. Everyone at the bunker had a job. He didn’t. He was also the only non-military employee in the place. How was this possible? But he knew the answer. He was close enough to the bunker for Reynolds to send a team for him and his wife. Reynolds had gotten Jess’ name from the police report. Once the outbreak occurred, he had no time to go around the city rounding up infected, but going into a building directly above the bunker, a building that his corporation owned, had been within reason.

  So what could Jack do to make a difference? To help? He thought of Zaun. Was his friend still alive? Was anyone in his building still alive? To traipse around the city was crazy, but what about just going to his building? That wasn’t so nuts, was it? He didn’t think so. That’s what he could do. Get some of the guards together, lead an expedition into his building, and see if there were any survivors. And if he or any of the others became infected, they would know how to kill the bots, becoming uninfected again. He had to see if Reynolds would go for it.

  Chapter 7

  Jack rapped on Reynolds’ door, the man’s room more like an apartment. The doctor had a king-sized bed, a computer, a large bookcase, filled with various titles, a bathroom with a stall shower-Jack and the others had a communal washroom-and a faux fireplace with some kind of furry creature skin rug in front. Pictures of various outdoor landscapes hung on the walls.

  “Keeps me from going nuts,” Reynolds said, noticing Jack looking at the pictures. He was sitting in a red leather recliner in front of the fireplace, sipping from a stout, yet bulbous glass, with what looked like brandy in it.

  “Nice place you have here, doc.”

  “Thank you. It’s not home, but it’ll do. Now, what can I help you with, Jack?”

  Jack took a seat in a chair opposite Reynolds. He felt heat emanating from the imitation fireplace.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Would you like a drink? Cognac?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Reynolds got up, went over to a cabinet, produced an identical glass to his, unscrewed the cap on an unlabeled bottle of dark, auburn-colored liquid, and poured two fingers worth of the stuff. Sitting back down, he handed the glass to Jack.

  Jack brought the drink to his nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. He sipped, then swallowed, feeling the delightful burn as the alcohol trickled down his gullet. He had never tasted a better brandy.

  “Only two thousand of these bottles were made,” Reynolds said, tapping the glass with a finger.

  “Fantastic stuff,” Jack told him, taking another small sip.

  “Mixed with Cognac from the 1830’s up to the middle 1990’s. Four thousand dollars a bottle at time of direct sale.”

  Jack almost choked.

  “Enjoy it my friend, for who knows if we’ll get to experience something like it for some time.”

  The two men sat quiet for a few moments, each enjoying the liquor before Jack finally spoke.

  “I’ve been feeling really useless around here. I eat and take up space. I want to contribute somehow.”

  “Jack, you’ve been through a tough ordeal. No one is looking at you as ‘ useless. ’ You’re healing and when you’re up to it, we’ll find something for you to do.”

  “That’s just it; I’m ready to do something. Sitting around, cooped up, it’s driving me crazy. All I do is dwell, and I’m tired of dwelling. I need to help and I think I’ve come up with a way I can.”

  Reynolds shifted in his seat. “Tell me.”

  “I want to go to the surface. See if there are any survivors in my old building. A small team, maybe three men and I can do it.”

  “I can’t let you leave, Jack,” Dr. Reynolds said, shaking his head. “And my men only go out to gather subjects. Otherwise, I’d never risk their well-being. You may find this hard to believe, but it’s a nightmare up there. And as much as it ’ s confining down here, it’s Heaven compared to the surface. The men are petrified to go out, and I hate sending them, but it needs to be done. If it were up to them, they’d never leave.”

  “Then I’ll go myself. I need this. I need to make a difference.”

  “You have a sister, correct?”

  Jack was taken aback. “Yes, how’d you know?”

  “When you were brought in, I had a full background check done on you. I wasn’t going to let a crazy person or a murderer run loose in the bunker. From what I read, you’re a regular person. Except for that incident with your sister’s husband, which was clearly something the guy had coming.”

  Jack was speechless. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or relieved that the doctor trusted him. Thinking about it, he understood the need to check up on him. He would have done the same.

  “He did,” Jack said. “But back to the topic at hand.” He looked Reynolds in the eyes. “I need to see if anyone’s alive. I had a friend up there, the guy your guards zapped and left. If anyone is alive, it’s him.”

  “I’m not going to convince you that this is a bad idea, am I?”

  Jack shook his head. “No.”

  “And you’re going to bug me about this forever, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Jack took another sip of the auburn liquor. “Look, worse case, you lose another mouth to feed.”

  “Don’t put it like that, Jack. We’re fine here, and able to feed at least ten more people without compromising our reserves.” The man paused, and Jack could tell he was thinking. “Okay, but you’ll need to work on procedure with one of the guards. And I need your word that you won’t go anywhere else but your building. To do so would be suicide.”

  “You have my word.”

  “And if no one is alive, I don’t want to hear how you want to go traipsing around to other buildings. If that’s the case, then maybe it would be wisest for you to leave on a permanent basis.”

  Jack felt like he had been struck. The doctor’s tone had darkened, almost threateningly.

  “Just the one building. That’s all. Believe me; I don’t want to have to wander the streets looking for a place to survive in.”

  The doc’s face brightened. “Okay then. See Guard Commander Chambers. He’ll set you up with whatever you’ll need and figure out the best way to get you into the building.”

  Jack downed the last of the Cognac, placed the glass down, and went to get up.

  “And Jack,” the doc said, catching his gaze. “Good luck to you. I hope you find your friend.”

  Jack left the room without bringing up the escape tunnel, or if he could come up with a mass solution to the epidemic, how the man planned to communicate with the outside world. He would save that for when he was back in the safety of the bunker.

  Chapter 8

  The next day, Kyle Chambers, the Guard Commander and a former army ranger, prepared Jack for his mission, showing him the ins and outs of rope climbing. Later in the day, he went over the weapon he would be taking with him: an M4 carbine machine gun. Being an avid hunter and having fired a number of different weapons, Jack became quickly accustomed to the gun. Chambers also went over the finer points of killing a zombie: destroy the brain, or destroy the bots, both of which Jack already knew.

  “This is a grappling gun,” Chambers said, going over the final piece of Jack’s equipment. “It uses compressed air and is virtually silent, like firing a BB gun. You’ve got a cylinder attached, holding 100 feet of rope at 9 m illimeter thicknes
s. It looks thin, but it’s plenty strong, capable of holding up to three times your weight, so don’t worry about it snapping or anything.”

  “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The man went on, showing him how to aim the device. Jack practiced firing the weapon in the stairwell, trying to get the hook between the flights of stairs to attach onto the upper flight. By the tenth try, he felt comfortable.

  Next, Jack was shown how to wear the climbing harness and the proper way to climb a wall. There were a lot of complex parts and things to do, but all in all, he got it.

  Three days later, Jack was led to the double doors leading to the surface. Chambers had escorted him, giving him one more piece of advice. “The undead are attracted to noise, so be as quiet as possible. They’re slow as shit, most of them anyway, and are pretty easy to handle, but in packs they’re dangerous. Don’t try taking on a bunch; just run. They have no fear and will attack like they have nothing to lose.” The man paused, looked Jack in the eyes, then added, “It’s good what you’re doing, Jack. Dangerous, but I admire it. I’d go with you if Reynolds would let me.”

  “Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be fine.”

  “Good luck, Jack. And when you’re ready to come back, we’ll see you on the camera and send someone up.” Chambers pointed up to where a pipe was jutting out from the building. Inside, Jack saw a red lens gleaming in the light. The steel doors closed and Jack was alone in the alley.

  On his person, Jack had the M4 machine gun, a knife, a flashlight, the grappling gun, three bottles of water and a few MRE’s-meals ready to eat, which were self-contained individual field rations for use during combat or in areas where food could not be attained.

  Looking up, Jack saw the window he was told about, a window that led to the supply closet on the sixth floor. It was about sixty feet up, and the only window on that side of the building below one hundred feet. Its design was according to NYC building codes at the time, making the alley perfect for one of the bunker’s entrances.