Clickers vs Zombies (14 page)

Eventually, singular worship of Ob changed into worship of the Siqqusim as a whole. Cults sprang up in Assyrian, Sumero-Akkadian, Mesopotamian, and the Ugaritic cultures. The entities were consulted by necromancers and soothsayers. It was at this point that the Creator banished the Siqqusim and their leader to a place called the Void, along with Ab and his Elilum, and Api and his Teraphim.

At some point, Ob gained temporary release from the Void and possessed the body of Lazarus, a close companion of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Ob taunted Jesus, telling him that the Creator had released him from the Void in order to teach Jesus a lesson. However, there is some speculation that Ob may have been lying to the Nazarene. We do not yet know the reason for such a lie. Eventually, Ob was banished again to the Void. Secret worship of the Siqqusim continued into the Middle Ages.

Early in the Twenty-First century, on another level other than our own reality, mankind managed to breach the Void by ripping open the walls of the Labyrinth with the use of an ion collider (we do not know if this was by accident or if there were more sinister forces at work). Ob and the Siqqusim, Ab and the Elilum, and Api and the Teraphim were released. They quickly ravaged the Earth of that level and have since moved on to other levels and other worlds. On one such Earth, Ob’s plans were at least temporarily thwarted by two organized crime figures named Anthony Genova and Vincent Napoli. That Genova is the other universe’s version of our Anthony Genova, the current President of the United States of America. Genova and Napoli’s counterparts on other levels have encountered supernatural creatures, as well. We know that on all levels, Genova is one of The Seven. He is unaware of this, and is also unaware that we are monitoring him and the other six.

The field manual went on to talk about other beings—Ob’s brothers, Ab and Api, a creature known as Leviathan, and many others. When she was finished reading, Michele closed the book on her lap and glanced over at Clark. He still seemed to be in a trance. She noticed that they had left the bridge and were now on the highway. The GPS was silent. She considered turning on the radio, but was afraid to disturb her superior. Instead, she sat patiently, terrified of what might happen next.

“I should have stayed in college,” she mumbled, staring out the window as the landscape rushed by. “Elementary school teachers don’t have to deal with things like this.”

FIVE

Washington D.C.

At the White House, President Anthony Genova was getting briefed by his Secretary of Defense Melissa Peterson. Until today, President Genova—Tony to his friends—had been filled with a sense of pride at his administration. Not only was he the first Italian-American President, but Melissa was the first female Secretary of Defense. Both had worked hard to get where they were. His entire campaign had been bedeviled with stereotypes from his opponent’s supporters; that he had ties to organized crime being the most persistent (and totally unfounded) rumor. Still, they had prevailed.

Until today.

He listened with a growing sense of dread. There was a global zombie outbreak taking place, and it had apparently manifested in several U.S. cities—with San Francisco being the heaviest hit. Worse, an invasive and hostile species that the media had termed Clickers was emerging from the waters of the Pacific, and now there were reports of the creatures appearing in the Atlantic and Mediterranean oceans, as well.

“The beaching,” Melissa said, “occurred so quickly that scientists weren’t sure what to make of it. An underwater disturbance such as a severe change in temperature or an earthquake can cause it. Changes in underwater pressure will sometimes damage the eardrums of mammals such as whales and dolphins, causing them to become disoriented. But since this wasn’t just the ocean’s mammals stranding themselves on the beaches, scientists assumed it must be due to last week’s tsunami. Now, of course, we know better.”

Tony grimaced. “No shit.”

He noticed the look of disapproval on Cabinet Secretary Vincent Napoli’s face.

“Don’t start in with your ‘the President shouldn’t curse’ bullshit, Vince. Not now.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. President, but it’s true. You know the media has a field day every time you drop an F-bomb on a live microphone.”

“I don’t see the media in here right now, you fat fuck.”

Vince’s face turned beet red.

Ignoring him, Tony turned to Melissa. “Go ahead. What about San Francisco?”

“The Governor mobilized the National Guard. With your approval, we’ll put troops on the ground there, as well.”

Tony noticed that Vince was flexing the fingers of his left hand. The overweight man’s forehead was slick with sweat.

“We’ve already mobilized the Marines and Navy personnel in San Diego,” Melissa said. “They’re engaging both the Clickers and the, um…zombies already.”

“Congress will just love that,” Tony groaned, “seeing as how we did it without notifying them.”

“The base was under attack, Mr. President. Our forces were merely defending themselves. Lieutenant Colonel Jack Ripley says that—"

“Wait a minute, Colonel Ripley? Colonel
Jack
Ripley?”

“Yes sir.”

“I thought Colonel Ripley was retired. Was going to open up a rare comic book store in the remote woods of Maine or some fucking place.”

“No sir, not anymore. He’s requested another year, sir.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his face. He was about to tell Melissa to continue when Vince grabbed his chest, moaned, and then fell over. His face made a loud, wet smacking sound as it struck the table.

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick!” Tony leaped to his feet and turned to one of the Secret Service agents. “Get some help in here!”

Cabinet members, Secret Service agents, and civilian personnel all hovered around. Some tried to help, while others just got in the way. Tony was about to order them to clear the room when Vince began to stir.

“Is he okay?” Melissa asked, shoving forward.

Vince sat up slowly and grinned. A line of drool ran down his double chins.

“I’m fine,”
he said.
“But very, very hungry.”

Then, with a speed that belied his prodigious bulk, he jumped out of his chair, rushed forward, and clamped his teeth around Tony’s nose. The pain was excruciating. Tony beat at him with his fists as he felt the man’s teeth grind together. Vince pulled back a few inches, and spat Tony’s severed nose in his face. Then his head darted forward for another bite.

The room erupted into chaos. The Secret Service agents flung themselves at the two men, reluctant to open fire lest they hit the President by mistake. Vince tossed them aside like they were rag dolls, and chewed off Tony’s face. The President’s lips stretched like taffy, and his eyeballs dribbled down his cheeks as Vince’s fat fingers gouged into his sockets. One of the agents shot the attacker, firing three shots into his chest. Laughing, Vince ignored the gunfire and moved toward Melissa. The President collapsed to the floor, jittering, and then lay still. His bladder and bowels vented.

A moment later, the President sat up, grinning blindly.

“Let’s get this fucking party started,”
the Siqqusim inside President Genova said.

Palos Verdes, California

Dr. Post sat on his back deck, nervous anticipation settling over his lanky frame. Fishermen had hauled three more of the strange hybrid creatures in from various beaches today and had taken no chances. Being smaller specimens, they’d crushed them with heavy blows with various steel tools, then contacted animal control officers who had in turn contacted the Marine Institute. Dr. Post had confirmed the remains of these new specimens were identical to the one killed last night to the Department of Agriculture official he’d talked to last night on the phone. “But they’re juveniles,” he’d told them. “All three of these are. In fact, these two,” he’d said, pointing to the two latest ones from this afternoon, “are just babies.”

“Babies?” The Department of Agriculture official had said, the color draining from his face. He’d flown in to California from Washington just this morning to view the remains. Dr. Post had turned to him, trying to convey how serious this was.

“Yes,” Dr. Post had said as gently and as convincingly as he could. “These are babies. The one from last night was a juvenile. If it were a canine, it would be the equivalent of a five month old puppy.”

“Are there more of these, Doc?” the Department of Agriculture guy had asked. The grim look on Alfred’s face told the government official all he needed to know. Where there were babies, there were parents.

He’d sat out here all evening, mulling the facts over in his mind. He preferred to think in silence and had neglected to turn on the television or radio. As a result, he’d been unaware that his theory had already been proven correct as the adult Clickers came ashore, streaming from the ocean on their segmented legs, frenzied and hungry, to terrorize numerous cities and communities all along the coast.

Alfred half-dozed, lulled by the sound of the waves. He wondered if perhaps they should move further inland, if only for a few days. Maybe rent a hotel room somewhere? As the sun bobbed on the horizon, preparing to sink for the evening, he heard fire sirens wailing in the distance and wondered what was happening.

An anguished cry from his next-door neighbor’s house pulled his attention from the sirens. Disturbed and concerned, Alfred got out of his chair and moved to the railing. His neighbor, George, ran out into the yard.

“Doctor Post,” George shouted. “Oh, thank God you’re there. I think Ginny may have just had a heart attack. I can’t get her to respond to CPR and she doesn’t have a pulse. My daughter tried calling an ambulance, but our phone is out. Will you please call 911?”

“Oh my Lord. Absolutely, George.”

The frantic neighbor ran back inside his house. Al reached for his cell phone, which was sitting on a spare deck chair. He’d muted it while he was thinking. He un-muted it and saw that there were no service bars. Cursing, he tried dialing for help anyway, only to receive a recording telling him to try his call again later.

George ran back outside again, looking excited.

“Doctor Post,” he cried, “it’s okay! She’s alive. It was the most amazing thing. She wasn’t breathing. Didn’t have a pulse. And then all of a sudden, she sat back up again. My daughter is in with her right now.”

Before Al could respond, screams erupted from George’s house. The startled neighbor hurried back inside, yelling his daughter’s name. A moment later, his own screams joined hers.

Then, both their shrieks were drowned out by a sound coming from the beach below. Al gripped the rail and stared out into the surf as the noise drew closer.

CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK! CLICK-CLICK!

Malibu, California

Thirty miles up the coast, Augustus and Marion, sat down to a late dinner of spinach salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing with grilled mahi tuna overlaid on it with his wife, Marion. For the first time in years, they had the news turned on. Augustus was distressed by what he was hearing from the talking heads. It wasn’t so much on what they were reporting, it was from what they
weren’t
saying. Their coverage of the strange deaths of beach goers along the west coast by the strange lobster-creatures was subdued, as was the coverage of the riot in San Francisco. He got the keen sense that there was a wealth of information behind both but that the media were forbidden to elaborate on it. This was unusual for the news media, especially mainstream news media journalists, who tended to dwell on the same subject for hours at a time whenever there was a hot topic. But with no celebrity poop to gossip over—they’d grown tired of Charlie Sheen preaching evangelical Christianity on
Praise the Lord
and the reports of industrial black metal singer Justin Bieber’s live performances on his most recent world tour that was out-shocking Marilyn Manson—they weren’t fixating on anything. Surely the deaths of innocent civilians by strange creatures coming out of the ocean were more newsworthy, right? Even stranger, he had gone online earlier, hoping the social media networks would offer a clue as to what was really going on. To his dismay, he’d found that most of them were offline.

“Maybe we should charter a flight to our cabin in Vail tonight,” Augustus said to Marion. “I’m getting a very ominous impression about the west coast.”

“You mean other than what the news is showing?” Marion asked. Her expression was fearful.

Augustus nodded. “Much worse. I don’t want to call it a vision yet, but—”

Marion laid her hand on his, stopping him. “Let’s just do it. Now. We can leave tonight.”

Augustus saw the urgency in her eyes. He nodded. “You’re right. Call the kids. Get everybody rounded up. I’ll call the private jet company and arrange to leave out of Thousand Oaks in an hour.”

Dinner was finished quickly as they made their plans. And as Augustus confirmed that a private plane and pilot would be waiting for them within an hour, he felt a strange sense of urgency. He couldn’t help but feel that he was experiencing his last moments in this house, that he and his wife would never see this beautiful place again.