HVZA (Book 3): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse [Project Decimation] Read online

  HVZA 3

  Hudson Valley

  Zombie Apocalypse

  Project Decimation

  Linda Zimmermann

  For videos, podcasts, and information on HVZA and the HVZA graphic novel go to: www.hvzombie.com and click on Zombies

  Zombie makeup on cover created by:

  Michael Worden SFX, michaeljworden.com

  Cover Art by Gordon Bond Designs, [email protected]

  Copyright © 2018 Linda Zimmermann

  www.gotozim.com

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  Eagle Press

  ISBN: 978-1-937174-20-0

  Author’s Note

  HVZA 3 has been a long time coming. I began it a few years ago and while the majority of the plot was formed in my head from the start, getting it on paper took an inordinate amount of time, for a variety of reasons.

  Several other book projects took over my life for a couple of years, but still, when time allowed, I returned to my zombie apocalypse world. Then there was the small matter of the life-threatening medical ordeal which put quite a damper on my productivity, but still, when I was able, I returned to my zombies.

  Finally, as 2017 was drawing to a close, I said enough is enough: I have zombies to kill and people to save, so I ceased all other projects to concentrate on Becks, zombie parasites, and a New York City and Hudson Valley full of mayhem, tragedy, and eternal hope.

  No matter what else I do in my varied career, for me, nothing compares to immersing myself in my own fictional universes. I live in that universe night and day, and when I write those final two words—The End—I feel both happy that I have completed the story, and sad that I have to leave it and return to reality (or as close to reality as I am capable of getting!).

  I hope HVZA 3 pulls you in and takes you on a wild ride. If you find yourself saying, “Holy crap, this is so realistic!” and end up losing sleep over it, my job is done! Ultimately, though, I hope this book provides you with some escapist entertainment in a manner that only a herd of zombies headed straight for you can provide.

  Linda Zimmermann

  Hudson Valley of New York

  March 2018

  Acknowledgements

  It’s hard to believe, but it was way back in 1998 when Gordon Bond created my first ghost book cover. He is now an author of several books, and you would think the two of us would know better by now, but here we are twenty years later doing the same things again!

  Thank you, Gordon, for an amazing cover that really captures the world of HVZA!

  As for Michael Worden, police officer, author, and special effects artist, may we have many more sessions where you glue bald caps to my scalp and flesh wounds to my face, and cover my skin in a lovely palette of decomp colors and fake blood.

  Then there is my husband, Robert Strong, who tirelessly goes with me on my scouting and research trips, proofreads, and generally manages to deal with all of the quirks and eccentricities of a zombie novelist. (Especially one who has been known to jump out of the bushes in full zombie makeup to freak him out.)

  And to all of the HVZA fans who have supported my work and encouraged (and sometimes badgered, in a good way) me to continue the series—many, many thanks. Becks and I couldn’t have done it without you!

  Chapter 1

  The first undead corpse in Manhattan attempting to cross the makeshift footpath at the base of the remnants of the George Washington Bridge slipped and fell into the muddy waters of the Hudson River, adding his body to the tight web of debris. The next two or three hundred zombies trying to get across also failed to make it, and their torsos, arms, legs, and heads slowly filled in the gaps in the path, also helping to widen it. Finally, a petite female zombie who used to serve coffee and pastries at a small shop in the garment district—who still had her soiled, blue and white striped waitress cap pinned to her tangle of blond hair, and a crooked name tag that read, “Tanya”—successfully walked the entire length and stepped onto the soil of New Jersey.

  The center span of the bridge had been blown out by the Army in the early days of the infection—along with the other bridges and tunnels to Manhattan—in order to keep the millions of fresh zombies contained on the island. For several months, the river was still navigable by boat if you had a small craft and stuck to the shore lines. But over a year of logs and a remarkable variety of debris coming down the river had formed a sort of dam along the fallen superstructure of steel and concrete, coupled with the many cars and trucks that had packed the bridge when it was demolished.

  Water was still able to flow under and through this snarled mass, but silt, leaves, sticks, logs, derelict boats, bodies, and bones gradually accumulated until the dam stretched the width of the river and formed an embankment from shore to shore. As much as zombies hated being near water, their hunger drove them to seek out new sources of food, and therefore this new link to fresh hunting grounds was an opportunity that their single-minded neural networks simply could not resist.

  Limping and awkwardly swinging her long-dead limbs along the river road that passed the boat docks, Tanya slowly followed the twisting and turning pavement and ascended onto the Palisades Interstate Parkway. From there, it would be an easy walk through northern New Jersey into Rockland County, New York, and its many roads and highways that spread out through the Hudson Valley.

  Unfortunately for zombie Tanya, but fortunately for the few remaining inhabitants of southern Rockland County, a patrol dispatched the lone walking corpse with a single headshot that splattered blood and brains all over her waitress cap.

  However, it would not be so easy to kill the other hundreds of thousands of zombies that began to follow in Tanya’s footsteps.

  Chapter 2

  Six weeks after being rescued from the zombie hell of the New Jersey suburbs, Dr. Rebecca “Becks” Truesdale was only waking up screaming two or three times a night.

  While her physical wounds had healed nicely since she was brought back to West Point, her mental and emotional states were still far from the confident, kick-ass loner she had transformed herself into when the zombie apocalypse made civilization crumble. Becks had learned to survive and kill—both zombies and humans—and had changed in more ways than she ever imagined possible.

  However, the long months of her horrific ordeal—much of which time she was injured and isolated—had also taken its toll. It was a delayed reaction, though, as only after she was safe, eating well, taking hot showers, and sleeping in a warm bed for a couple of weeks, did the terror of all her experiences start bubbling up like a hot magma burning through her heart and soul.

  “It’s okay, Baby. It’s okay. I’m here,” Cam whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around Becks’ trembling body after she sat bolt upright and screamed at the top of her lungs for the second time in as many hours.

  When her nightmares began, Cam insisted on sleeping with her so she didn’t wake up alone. He would hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her gently on the forehead, and speak to her in a soothing and reassuring voice. Becks hated these bouts of fear, which she perceived as a weakness, but she also was so very grateful to have Cam by her side again. A strong hug and a few words from him made all the scenes of blood and gore she was reliving in her dreams fade away—at least for an hour or so.

  The doctors at West Point offered her sedatives and sleeping pills, but Becks was just stubborn enough to refuse any sort of medication which she believed would only mask the symptoms of the psychological issues she had to deal with in her own way.
Of course, as a doctor, she knew all too well the effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, of which she was exhibiting classic signs, but Becks was still too mired in the trauma to the think clearly enough to ask for help.

  So what if she had to hide in a drainpipe surrounded by zombies, slaughter them in brutal hand-to-hand fighting, shoot, stab, and burn people alive, eat rats, battle the bitter cold temperatures and snow, and literally run for her life, time and time again? She simply did what she had to, to survive, and her subconscious would just have to grow a virtual ‘pair’ and deal with it.

  Working in a lab again certainly helped. Back with her test tubes, Petri dishes, and instruments, Becks was in her happy place from the moment she slipped on her lab coat. It also helped to be working side by side with Phil again. He had endured his own personal hell, losing most of his family and being imprisoned with thousands of zombies, but he now seemed as content and good-humored as he had been back at ParGenTech, BZA (Before the Zombie Apocalypse). If both he and his son—who had witnessed his mother, sister, and grandparents murdered and eaten—could emerge from the depths of their despair, then she could, too.

  There was certainly enough work to keep her mind occupied. While she had been gone, some of the doctors and scientists at West Point had been trying to develop a vaccine to the Zombie Infection Parasites, or ZIPs. Parasite vaccines were one of the more difficult medical challenges BZA, and now AZA (After the Zombie Apocalypse), with limited resources and staff, it often seemed like an impossible dream, but it didn’t mean they would not keep trying.

  BZA, there had been some promising experiments with some early-stage parasites being irradiated so that they were unable to reproduce. When these sterile parasites were injected into the bloodstream, they provoked immunological responses which researchers hoped would protect the host from future infections from non-sterile parasites. It was a longshot to produce a vaccine for the complex and adaptable ZIPs, but it would be a crucial step for the survival of mankind, which at this point was very much in doubt, given the current global situation. Could the world ever recover from the loss of billions of people?

  “I don’t know about the rest of the world, but life at the Point seems pretty damn good at the moment,” Cam said, a second before sinking his teeth into the crispy skin of a piece of fried chicken.

  He and Becks sat in the expansive mess hall after her shift in the lab, but while he relished every delicious bite, she was clearly a million miles away and not so much eating as pushing her food around her plate.

  “What?” Becks asked, not having heard a word.

  “I said I booked us two seats on the next flight to Paris, because I feel like having croissants for breakfast,” Cam said to see if she was listening.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” she replied mechanically.

  For her own good, Cam flipped a spoonful of mashed potatoes at her, which stuck quite nicely to her cheek.

  “Cam, what the hell!?” Becks protested, wiping her face with a napkin as she tried to decide whether to be pissed or amused.

  “Trues, you are somewhere out in space, no doubt thinking of ZIPs, modifying genes, and god knows what, when you should just be enjoying this fabulous meal and conversing with your charming and devilishly handsome dinner companion.”

  “You’re right, I am sorry,” she said, seemingly reaching out to take his hand, but instead, wiping the sticky lump of thrown potato down his arm.

  Had they been alone or back at Cam’s compound in Saugerties, a full-on food fight would have ensued, but given their surroundings and the crazy level of discipline everywhere at West Point, they had to content themselves with exchanging hushed threats.

  Becks finally ate and enjoyed her meal. Then she and Cam took a lovely walk in the warm evening air along the river, and life did seem pretty damn good at that moment. However, a solitary figure desperately paddling up the river on a raft constructed out of office furniture and empty plastic bottles would soon shatter that peace of mind.

  Chapter 3

  Dr. Martin Devereaux was universally disliked by both students and faculty during his almost four decades at the Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons in New York City, because of his gruff demeanor and generally mean-spirited behavior.

  Dr. Martin Devereaux was also universally admired and respected for his unrivaled genius, and he had often been described as having one of the most brilliant medical minds to ever grace the planet. No one could stand to be in the same room with him, yet countless people were indebted to Devereaux for either their careers or their very lives, as his research and discoveries had launched so many new medications, treatments, and technologies that there wasn’t a modern hospital in the world that wasn’t employing some technique that had been born in his fertile mind. Statues should have been erected in his honor and he should have been celebrated in every country—if only everyone didn’t hate his guts so much.

  Devereaux didn’t give a damn how many people hated him. In fact, the more the better, as it spared him having to waste time with banal social interactions. He was thus free to concentrate on his work—the work of curing diseases and saving lives, which certainly must rank higher than being able to chit chat at fundraisers and cocktail parties.

  Nothing in his character or in his past mattered now, however, as he sat in his office which looked west toward the Hudson River. He had so far survived the chaos, turmoil, and bloodshed of the zombie apocalypse, predominantly because he was so clever. That, and he had a group of about three dozen students and faculty to help protect him and gather supplies. That number had been cut in half since the bridges and tunnels were destroyed and they were all trapped on Manhattan, but the fact that more than a dozen of them were still left alive after all this time was truly remarkable under such dire circumstances.

  To his credit, Devereaux recognized the fact that these brave young men and women continued to risk their lives in order for him to stay alive and keep his research going. While he never actually thanked any of them—except on a single occasion—he did make a concerted effort to not treat them like dirt under his feet. It wasn’t easy, but it was the least he could do, as these people had sacrificed their chances of getting off Manhattan to stick with him.

  His own poor health prevented Devereaux from making a run for it when word began to spread that the bridges and tunnels were being rigged with explosives. He had been scheduled for heart surgery in the early days of infection, but his surgeon was one of the first to get bitten and turn zombie. As conditions rapidly deteriorated and medical priorities even more rapidly shifted to perpetual emergencies, he never received that operation. Initially, people joked that Devereaux’s surgery had been canceled because they discovered he actually didn’t have a heart, but with the devastating onslaught of the zombie apocalypse, no one was laughing for long.

  Devereaux’s condition had steadily worsened and he did his best to keep working, but he knew better than anyone that without that surgery he wouldn’t live very long. He then reached a point where he realized that even surgery would no longer help. But that was only part of why he sent one of his students on the risky mission up the river. After a recent scouting mission, the students reported enormous herds of zombies converging on the remnants of the George Washington Bridge, and that they were actually starting to cross the river on piles of debris.

  They knew the military was still functional in some capacity, as helicopters had been spotted several times in the past few weeks. They were seen traveling south down the river and then veering west toward northern New Jersey. Devereaux had surmised that they were most likely based at West Point—at least he hoped so. He also hoped that they may have some doctors who could carry on his important work.

  He did not easily come to the decision to send a young man out on a possibly fatal mission, but time was not on the side of mankind. If there was still an army, they needed to know that legions of the undead were marching their way toward the Hudson Valley. They also needed to
know that he was dying, and that he just might have the answer to turn the tide of the zombie apocalypse. The outside world needed to know about Project Decimation, before it was too late for him, and too late for everyone else still breathing.

  Chapter 4

  The fact that Dr. Phillip Masterson had packed on more than 30 pounds over the winter spoke to the high standard of living at West Point, which allowed such a high caloric intake when most of the survivors in the outside world were starving. What had begun as stress eating at the word of Becks’ suspected death, spiraled into frequent binges of comfort food. That, along with 12 to 18-hour work days, six days a week, meant that he had officially crossed the line of being just pleasingly plump.

  So, as Phil ran down the hallway toward the lab, huffing and puffing, he felt every one of those extra pounds weighing him down. He made a pledge right then and there to get back into shape—if he and everyone else in the Hudson Valley survived long enough to start working out.

  “Everyone…Attention…Please!” he shouted in between gasping breaths.

  Becks, along with the other 20 staff members working that shift, instantly fell silent and stopped what they were doing. Some were so startled by Phil’s state of alarm that they literally dropped what they were doing as several pieces of glassware hit the floor and shattered. Fortunately, none of the vessels contained anything too toxic or infectious.

  As everyone rushed over to Phil, he took a moment to lean over and catch his breath, hands on knees, before he continued.

  “There’s some news…big…news,” he said, still breathing heavily. It took a while, but finally Phil was able to share the shocking details of what had transpired in the last few hours. A Rockland County Militia patrol had spotted someone coming up the river on a raft made from some metal desk parts and empty water bottles and milk containers. He claimed to have come from the Columbia medical school with word that Dr. Martin Devereaux had developed something very important to fight the zombies.