HVZA (Book 3): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse [Project Decimation] Page 6

  “What the...” Cam whispered to Becks, who was equally dumbfounded and just shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in disbelief. Jagged bolts of lightning flashed across the sky and thunder exploded like artillery shells as the living formed a circle around Devereaux’s withered, nude corpse. Becks was trying not to look at the unpleasant sight, but she noticed some odd, discolored areas of swelling in his arms, legs, and torso, almost as if some type of liquid had been injected under the skin. If it was an attempt at embalming, it was the worst job she had ever seen.

  “Dr. Martin Devereaux was not an easy man to like,” Sticky Pete began, shouting to be heard over the rumbles of thunder.

  Amen to that, Becks thought.

  “But he was an intellectual force to be reckoned with, and respected,” Pete continued. “Even in death, he insisted on continuing his research. He asked that his body be injected with a new infectious agent he had developed.”

  At this point, all the members of Becks’ team took a step back from the body, both alarmed and puzzled.

  “It is only deadly to the ZIPs,” Pete added quickly before continuing. “From the start of the apocalypse, Dr. Devereaux’s sole focus was on finding ways to prevent infections and kill the ZIPs. Perhaps if Project Decimation is successful, and civilization returns to the earth, statues of him will be erected to his genius.”

  Hopefully, those statues won’t be naked, Becks thought, putting a hand to her face to conceal a smile.

  “Today, we honor the man by granting his last wish—to feed his infected corpse to the zombies he swore to destroy.”

  A sharp clap of thunder punctuated the unique eulogy, and Max, Arjun, and another male student joined Pete in grabbing the broomstick handles of the plywood stretcher. They carried the body to the edge of the roof, where another student used a knife to cut the straps. That student then brought a trumpet to his lips and attempted to play Taps, but fortunately, the thunder drowned out the many sour notes.

  Then slowly, ever so slowly, the piece of plywood was tilted until Devereaux’s corpse slid off. It impacted the pavement below with a skull-shattering and bone-splintering force, and within seconds the crowd of zombies was tearing into the flesh and brains of one of the most brilliant humans to ever live.

  Everyone was silent as they descended the stairs back to the labs. Towels were passed around and minutes continued to tick by without anyone speaking. What could one say of such a thing? The silence was finally broken by the crackle of a garbled and staticky message coming over the remaining Ranger’s radio. The second sentence was heard clearly after the Ranger moved to the window.

  “Columbia One, this is WPHQ, do you read me? Over.”

  Becks couldn’t hear what else was being said over the radio as everyone had suddenly started talking at once, now that the tension had been broken. The students were all abuzz about finally leaving Manhattan—something many of them never thought they would live to see—and they asked all kinds of questions about the food at West Point, the hot showers, the labs, and then more questions about the food. After a couple of minutes, Becks heard her name being called over the din.

  “Dr. Truesdale,” the Ranger with the radio was shouting, “Dr. Masterson needs to speak with you.”

  Becks assumed that Phil wanted to talk about the cargo of zombies, and she had some information for him she had gotten from Devereaux that she wanted to share, as well. Becks made her way through the pack of excited students to get to the Ranger by the window, where the radio reception was better.

  “Hey, Phil, it’s Becks. Don’t say I never gave you anything. Over,” she said, thinking she was making a joke about the delivery of the bound and gagged zombies. But Phil was not laughing.

  “Becks, uh, I hate to ask this,” he began, pausing the transmission for a moment. “But we’ve been going over all of Devereaux’s notes and the equipment you sent, and, well, for the scale of production we want, we need better apparatus for making the gold nanoparticle serum. Over.”

  “OK, I’ll ask the students, but I think they packed up everything they had. Over,” Becks replied, puzzled, and oddly troubled by Phil’s tone.

  “Yeah, Becks, that’s just it,” Phil said, clearly uncomfortable with what needed to be said, “That equipment is fine to produce enough serum for a dozen zombie soldiers, but we need hundreds, or better yet, thousands. Over.”

  “Spit it out, Phil. What are you getting at? Over.”

  “We believe we can really scale up production with the equipment they have up in Albany, at the College of Nanoscale Science,” Phil finally said, as if blurting out a confession, but not the entire confession.

  “Sounds good to me. They have—well had—state-of-the-art stuff. Just make sure that whoever is going to pick it up knows what they’re doing,” Becks said, and then realized she was the one best qualified for the mission. “Oh. You want me to go, don’t you?”

  “It’s not that I want you to go,” Phil said with emphasis, and guilt. “But we’ve all been talking—been up all night, in fact—and with your experience and knowledge, we’ve realized you are the obvious choice. No one else here has any experience with nanoparticles. But we all get it if you don’t want to go, after all you’ve been through. Over.”

  Becks’ heart was beating a little faster, and beads of sweat had begun to form on her brow. She knew that while some of the capital was secure, Albany was still considered a frontier town, with a large population of zombies still roaming the streets, not to mention filling many of the buildings.

  When the spring offensive began in northern New Jersey, troops had been pulled from many of the locations in the Hudson Valley, including Albany, where to her knowledge the secure perimeter was being maintained, but not expanded. She doubted that a school of nano science was high on the list of places that needed to be cleared. Until now.

  “How bad is it up there?” Becks asked calmly, despite the anxiety creeping up her spine.

  “It’s in the Red Zone,” Phil replied, as if telling a friend she had a terrible disease. “We are trying to get more intel, but as of now, we honestly have no idea what conditions are like inside the buildings, or on the roads leading from the secure zone. And they don’t have more than a handful of soldiers to spare. But we could just tell Julian to go. No one will blame you if you’re not up to it.”

  “He is completely useless under pressure,” Becks said in a softer tone, just to be sure she was not overheard by anyone in the lab—not that it was a secret, even to Julian. “I’m not about to wimp out when a massive herd has just been unleashed. The weather still sucks here, so how soon can you get a chopper to pick us up?”

  The radio was silent for a few moments, which made Becks’ blood run even colder.

  “Uh, that’s the other thing,” Phil replied sheepishly. “Doesn’t look like the storms will move out anytime soon, and every minute counts. They’ve sent a boat to pick you up, but you’ll have to make your way down to the river, which from what Pete said, will not be easy.”

  Becks gave the radio back to the Ranger so he could talk to HQ about the details of where and when the boat would be arriving. She found Sticky Pete and quietly said something in his ear, making his eyes widen, and then he hurried over to the Ranger to offer his knowledge of the best pickup location. Then Becks found Cam, and he instantly knew something was wrong.

  “It just got a whole lot less simple, didn’t it?” he asked, resigned to more trouble.

  Chapter 11

  The craters in the Palisades Interstate Parkway left by the Apache’s rockets were rapidly becoming ponds in the relentless downpours. The herd of zombies continued marching inexorably forward, nonetheless, completely ignorant of the treacherous terrain that lay ahead. Pushed from behind, the zombies along the leading edge of the herd fell in to the craters.

  As those soulless bodies struggled in the water and mud, another row of zombies fell on top of them, and so on, and so on, eventually crushing, drowning, and suffocating those a
t the bottom of the piles. It would take a while, but body by body of men, women, and children, those craters would fill up to street level. Then it would be the countless feet of the herd staggering over the fallen that would compact those bodies even further.

  Any zombie who stopped to try to feed on the corpses of the fallen was also trampled to death, but with time, all edible flesh at the surface of this gruesome pavement would be consumed, and the herd would continue over the bones of the dead as if the craters never existed.

  West Point was buzzing with activity. While the military minds planned defensive strategies to protect the Hudson Valley, every scientist, doctor, and lab tech was working feverishly on Project Decimation. One young cadet, Lionel Winston, who had been volunteering in the lab during his free time, was asked by Phil to take up a collection of gold jewelry, as they would need it to make the chloroauric acid for the gold nanoparticle production.

  “No gold-filled crap, Lionel,” Phil explained. “Fourteen karat at least, but eighteen karat is better. Here, start with this.”

  Phil removed his own wedding ring as if it physically hurt to do so, but he couldn’t let his emotions prevent this important work.

  “Yes, sir, Dr. Masterson,” Lionel replied, but hesitated to begin his mission.

  “Is there a problem?” Phil asked. “Perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of the situation?”

  “Yes, sir, Doctor, I most certainly do,” Lionel responded crisply. “But it may not be necessary to collect jewelry. Wouldn’t 24 karat gold be ideal?”

  Phil had to laugh before he spoke. “Yes, son, that would be most ideal, but I’m afraid I’m fresh out of gold bullion. You wouldn’t happen to have a few bars to spare, would you?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Lionel said, and recognized that Phil was in no mood for a joke, so he quickly added, “Well, not me personally, sir. The West Point Mint has stacks and stacks of gold bars. Second only to Fort Knox, or so I heard.”

  Phil stared at the young man for a moment to make sure he was serious, and then grabbed his wedding ring and shoved it back on his finger as fast as he could. He then scribbled a note and handed it to the young man.

  “You take this note to General Bridges, ASAP, and tell him to do whatever he has to, to get into that vault.”

  “Yes, sir, Dr. Masterson!”

  Lionel Winston promptly sprinted out of the lab, and didn’t stop running until he found the general and presented Phil’s note.

  “You know I’m going to verify this request with Dr. Masterson, and what will happen to you if he didn’t write this note?” the general said, eyeing the cadet suspiciously.

  “Yes, sir, General. Please confirm immediately.”

  The general’s assistant did just that, but much to Lionel’s dismay, he was then dismissed. The gold would be delivered to the lab by the appropriate personnel and guards, and he would not be allowed to set eyes on a treasure beyond his wildest dreams. But at least the gold did exist, and it just might help combat this wildest of nightmares, which with every passing minute was inching closer to West Point.

  Chapter 12

  “Froot Loops are a terrible thing to waste,” Becks said, trying to lighten the mood.

  She had just informed Julian that they were going to have to travel through zombie-infested streets to get to the river, where a boat would take them to Albany, where they would then be entering the Red Zone. For a second or two, Julian took on the hue of the lime Froot Loops he had just eaten for breakfast. He then proceeded to throw up the multicolored breakfast cereal all over his shoes. It would have been kind of pretty, if it hadn’t been vomit.

  “You know, you can always opt out,” Becks added, feeling a little sorry for him, but also feeling a bit of contempt.

  After all, Julian was a soldier, even though the only reason he had enlisted was to get a free medical degree. He thought he might be posted stateside to Walter Reed Medical Center in Bethesda, or at the worst, the military hospital in Ramstein, Germany. Of course, no one thought the worst that could happen was zombies, but still, he wore the uniform so he should do his duty.

  But will I be able to do my duty? Becks wondered, as they geared up for their trip down to the river. There was a steady current of anxiety running through her—a constant thrumming that resonated with every rapid heartbeat throughout her network of jangled nerves.

  “If I freeze, smack me. Hard,” Becks whispered to Cam, as they strapped on some body armor that Erin had made from sheet metal and Velcro to protect their ankles and forearms. Too bad Erin hadn’t also made wrist guards, otherwise she might still be alive. With that in mind, Sticky Pete urged everyone to wrap a few pieces of duct tape around their wrists, which everyone, including the Ranger, did.

  Their team consisted of the Ranger, Cam, Julian, Becks, Pete, Max, and a short, slightly overweight, middle-aged woman named Martha, with limp, white-streaked, mousy brown hair. Neither Cam nor Becks had noticed her before now, but then that was the story of her life. She had been a lab assistant at Columbia for many years and her nondescript appearance and low key (or was it no key?) personality caused her to blend in with the lab instruments and furniture so thoroughly that coworkers often forgot she was in the same room. Some even forgot she worked there.

  Cam discreetly questioned Sticky Pete about bringing Martha along on what promised to be a strenuous and dangerous mission. Pete explained that she had a good knowledge of nanoparticles and had worked closely with Devereaux, so she was definitely someone they wanted to help choose the right equipment and supplies.

  “Plus, we think she’s going through menopause and I pity the zombie who tries to mess with her!” Pete concluded with a wink.

  Pete held a mission briefing with a hastily drawn map made with a black Sharpie on a big piece of cardboard. He traced the prior route they had taken with the raft to get to the river, but added that they would probably have to go even farther north this time as the situation had gotten much worse. Then Max used a red Sharpie to highlight the areas where they had encountered the most zombies. He hesitated and got a little choked up as he included the location where Erin had received her fatal wounds, and everyone gave him a moment before he continued.

  Diversionary spheres were thrown from the roof of the building in the opposite direction of where the team would be headed about twenty minutes before they left. Large herds moved toward the flashing, beeping tennis balls, but these were much larger herds than they had seen in the area before. Also, the sound didn’t carry as far through the dense crowds, and the wind and noise of the thunderstorms further diminished the reach of the beeping sounds. Ever since the makeshift bridge across the river had been destroyed, the masses of zombies that had stretched for miles down the West Side Highway had slowly begun to disperse, and far too many of them had filtered into the neighborhood around Columbia.

  “There’s going to be hell to pay getting through these bastards,” the Ranger said, lowering his binoculars after surveying as much of their route as he could see from the window which faced north.

  Martha then meekly raised her hand as if she was in elementary school trying to ask permission to go to the bathroom.

  “You have something you want to ask?” Pete said in a kind tone, but it sounded a lot like a parent talking to a child, even though Martha was twice his age.

  “Well, I, uh, was just wondering if the SZP wouldn’t help protect us?” she said in her librarian-like voice.

  “The what?” Pete asked, not sure if he heard her correctly.

  “The Synthetic ZIPs Pheromone that Dr. Devereaux had me synthesize a few weeks ago,” Martha replied, as if everyone was supposed to know what she was talking about.

  Pete, Max, and the other Columbia people all glanced at one another and shrugged their shoulders or shook their heads to indicate they didn’t have a clue what SZP was, or what it was supposed to do.

  “Uh, Martha, would you be so kind as to explain to us all what SZP is?” Max said nicely, but with a knitted
brow and rapidly darkening features.

  Was there something that could have protected them—and saved Erin’s life—on their way back from sending Pete on his way? Martha could sense the tension in the room and it slowly dawned on her that Devereaux hadn’t told anyone about the pheromone project.

  “Don’t blame me!” she suddenly shouted, taking everyone aback, as her pale cheeks flushed a mottled red and tears welled up in her eyes. “I just did my work. I just did what Dr. Devereaux told me to do!”

  “I see what you mean,” Cam whispered to Pete in the midst of Martha’s outburst.

  Becks took a chance and stepped forward and put her arm around the flustered woman’s shoulders and offered her a water bottle.

  “No one’s blaming you for anything,” Becks began in the practiced soothing manner she had perfected after years of working in the emergency room of Nyack Hospital, where she had to deal with all kinds of freaked out people. “Why don’t you just have a seat and start from the beginning?”

  Martha took a few sips of water and perched her flabby rear end on the edge of a lab chair. Her voice was loud at first, but quickly settled into her soft librarian register as she explained the SZP project. Though a little scatterbrained, Martha was very knowledgeable and had a sharp mind—much sharper than anyone realized.

  Dr. Devereaux had come to her with an idea several weeks earlier. They had all isolated the ZIPs’ pheromone months ago, but under the circumstances, couldn’t possibly extract enough of it from the zombies to create an effective masking agent—to be able to “smell like a zombie” and thereby be able to avoid being attacked.

  However, in one of Devereaux’s flashes of brilliance, he conceived of a way of synthesizing the critical chemical compounds of the ZIPs’ pheromone. It wouldn’t be an exact match, but hopefully it would be close enough to make an effective biochemical camouflage. Unfortunately, with limited resources, and after several failed attempts, Martha had only been able to produce a few drops of pure synthetic pheromone, and it hadn’t been tested yet with any zombies, but she was certain it would work.