Zombie Ascension (Book 1): Necropolis Now (23 page)

She sprinted across the ghostly lot, her head swimming with pain and the tumult of gunfire which seemed to be rattling against her eardrums, the agonizing echo of battle.

Her ears rang. Her lungs burned. A thousand needles had been pushed into her skull, and she clenched her jaw shut.

There, behind the lot in an overgrown field of grass, a little girl stood alone in the halo of sunlight.

"Shanna!" Vega shouted breathlessly across the distance. "Wait for me! I'm coming!"

The girl turned and ran into the weeds, a line of trees at the edge of the shattered land swaying slowly, touched by a breeze that could not be felt, a breeze that might not have existed at all. Vega didn't feel it. She felt only pain.

There were hundreds of them, materializing seemingly out of the darkest reaches of imagination. She didn't see them a moment ago—where did they come from? She wiped more blood out of her eyes as a dizzy spell twisted her sense of balance.

The dead were everywhere, and Shanna was running into their embrace.

"No!' Vega screeched. "Please, stop!"

The dead slipped through the trees and stalked through the long grass. Vega ran beyond the derelict shopping center, past a skeletal truck that rested on cement blocks and a rusted fence. While the girl who might have been Shanna disappeared into the brush, Vega realized the field was much larger, much wider, than she initially thought.

Her knees ached and threatened to buckle beneath her tired body. She kept running, as the dead tirelessly converged. Her vision blurred, and she forced breath through her lungs.

She repeated Shanna's name over and over again. She asked God to forgive her, to give her one more chance to do something right. She promised that she would retire. She would never take another life.

A shrill scream sent birds scurrying out of the treetops.

Vega crashed through the weeds and found herself splashing through puddles, her boots slipping through mud. She thought about Miles and the television in the room they had shared. She thought about the girl's beaming smile, and the name that ran through her head so many times while Miles whispered in her ear.

She lost her balance and stumbled through the mud of a destitute sewer. She could smell the human waste through which she slogged. Her vision twisted and contorted, and stars danced in front of her eyes.

"Shanna…" she sobbed weakly. “Please wait for me. I'm coming. Just wait."

Lifted high above the earth, a sacrificial offering to the all-powerful sun, a little black girl screamed wildly, and her limbs flailed in vain.

Vega reached. The girl was several yards away, and she became invisible as she fought against the hundreds of hands that held her aloft in the halo of sunlight.

"MAMA!" the girl screamed. "IT HURTS!"

"I'm right here," Vega sobbed. "Right here…"

Footsteps crashed through the brush around her. The dead had found her, at last. It was over now, as it should be. Shanna had been the only thing worth fighting for. But it couldn't be over. It couldn't be…

One gunshot. And then another. And another. Loud, thunderous shots that echoed throughout the empty world. Every muscle in Vega's body burned, and tears flooded her eyes as darkness pulled at the fabric of her consciousness.

Invisible hands pulled her upward, and her head rolled on her shoulders. The MP5 was gone, lost somewhere, but she still clung to the Beretta. Blood filled her ears, and her entire head seemed submerged under fathoms of water.

After blinking her eyes several times, she looked up and found the detective looking down upon her. She kicked her legs frantically, and the last vestiges of her strength were expelled in one final, horrible scream.

"SHANNA!"

"It's over," Griggs said. "All over, now."

"Stay awake," Vincent said from somewhere.

"She's still alive!" Vega attempted to wriggle out of their hands. "Bob! Help me! We have to get Shanna!"

"He's gone!" Griggs growled at her. "Traverse shot him! It's over!"

She didn't understand. How could Bob be dead? How could Shanna be dead? Everything was spinning out of control.

Smoke lifted into the sky.

She witnessed another hallucination borne from her concussion, or her fragile mental state. The Stryker sat in the shopping center's empty parking lot, the engine idling while the .50 cal on top swiveled back and forth. Somehow, the tank had survived, even though Bob had predicted that it would have been a death trap.

"We have to save Shanna," Vega moaned. "It's God's will. Set me down!"

"We have to pull her up over the front," Griggs said. "They’re all over the damn place."

"Put me down!" Vega writhed in their hands.

The Stryker was surrounded by corpses, just as everything else had been—just as Shanna had been while she screamed for mercy. Hundreds crowded around the tank, some of them clumsily scaling the vehicle.

"We can make it!" Griggs decided for them. "Keep your feet moving."

Somewhere within her mind, Vega could still hear Shanna screaming.

MINA

The car could take them no further. The streets had become impassable, yet, while they stood on the overpass together and looked across the fiery devastation, she couldn't help but feel complete.

She hugged the dead priest to her tightly. It had been a wonderful day. She was tired, and a part of her was still conflicted over her decision to remain with Jim. She still liked Patrick, but she had found her true purpose in the world, at last. Besides, it was obvious that he was just as much to blame for this catastrophe as she was.

All he had to do was destroy that video.

Beside her, Jim sighed. "This is what I have dreamt about for years. In a matter of hours, a million more people will be dead. The carnage is a testament to mankind's savage nature."

"I don't know," Mina shrugged.

"You're still worried about the detective," Jim rubbed his jaw. "I suppose I can't blame you. I'm still reeling from Bob's sacrifice. He had no plan to bring me back. He was so doomed, and so incredibly beautiful. I'll never forget him."

Below them, the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam was complemented by legions of figures that stood looking up at the sky. They should have been enjoying their morning coffee and preparing for the commute to work, or they should have been at home with their children. They should have been playing with their cell phones or committing petty crimes. They should have been buying things and reviewing things and they should have been breathing, eating, and shitting.

But they were not.

"You will tell me about the video," Jim demanded. "Before we go to Egypt, I must know what our chances are. I need to know what to expect, and what it will take to inherit the power I have been promised, dear Mina. The cities shall drown in the blood of the living, and I will become the patron saint of pain."

"There was… a voice," Mina began. "When I ate the man, the recorder was running, and the voice spoke to me from everywhere, and then I saw a scary face…"

Read on for a free sample of Hamsikker: A Zombie Novel

PROLOGUE

“Thanks for coming, thanks a lot. Please, go on in.” The words came out of his mouth, but he’d said them so many times over the last thirty minutes they had lost all meaning. It was like he was regurgitating a prayer, over and over, like some deranged priest.

“Mrs Danick, thank you for the flowers. Please, head on in. Thanks a lot for coming.” She had aged a lot since he’d last seen her, but she still had a wicked glint in her eye, and he remembered all the trouble he’d caused his neighbour over the years when he was growing up with Janey. He watched Mrs Danick accompany a frail, elderly woman into the church, their arms linked and their feet shuffling slowly.

As he shook another hand, kissed another cheek, and handed out another tissue to wipe the tears away, he wondered if he had slipped into a parallel universe. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be in mourning? How come everywhere he looked people were crying, holding each other, supporting each other with words of kindness and recalling memories of happier times? Why was he the one standing by the church gate, handing out condolences and hymn sheets like some kind of admin assistant?

There was a brief respite at the entrance as Mrs Danick entered the church, and he realised he was probably getting sunburnt. The back of his neck was hot and itchy, the thinning hair on top providing no cover for his head. Using a wad of hymn sheets, he fanned himself, knowing only his father would’ve died in the middle of a heatwave. It was as if the old bastard was having one last laugh at his son’s expense. Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled navy blue kerchief. He dabbed his moist forehead before shoving it away, as a family approached the church gates. Putting on his best smile, he prepared himself for another clammy handshake from yet another distant relation he hadn’t seen in twenty years, and prepared to repeat the speech he had given everyone else.

“Thanks for coming. Please…”

“Jonas Hamsikker, how’re you doing?”

Jonas looked at the large man facing him, and was momentarily thrown. This was not a friend of his father’s, just another acquaintance, or an old uncle; this was a face he knew well. It had been a long time since he had looked into those piercing blue eyes, and the red hair was unmistakeable. Thick sideburns grew down the man’s cheeks like a lava flow, filling in the burly man’s creased skin and crow’s feet. Jonas gripped the firm hand he was offered, and shook it enthusiastically.

“Erik? Jesus, man, how long’s it been?”

The two men embraced quickly and then Erik introduced his family.

“Hamsikker, this is my wife, Pippa. These two role-model citizens are Peter, my son, and my daughter, Freya.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Jonas as he shook their hands in turn. Freya giggled as she shook Jonas’s hand and then slid shyly behind her brother.

“I heard you were back in town, and of course I heard about your father. Sorry, man. I hope it’s okay we came. I wanted to pay my respects. Seemed only right, given how your old man looked after me back then.”

“Of course, of course,” said Jonas, pleased he was finally able to talk to someone he knew. He still couldn’t believe Erik Lansky was standing in front of him. He might have aged twenty something years, and added twenty pounds, but otherwise, he still looked like the same Erik he used to goof around with at school.

As more people filed into the church, Jonas shoved hymn sheets at them as they passed. It was almost time for the service to begin, but he didn’t want to miss out on catching up with Erik.

“Pippa, go on in with Peter and Freya, I want a quick word with Hamsikker,” said Erik standing to the side so the others could take the path into the church.

“Sure is a hot one,” said Jonas.

“And it’s only spring. You forgotten that glorious Kentucky sun already?” asked Erik. “I hope going out west didn’t turn you into a pussy.”

Despite his awkwardness, Jonas sniggered. It felt good to see his old friend again. Erik looked tough and given his larger-than-life stature, he could scare off people before they’d even spoken to him. But he was a kind man, always ready with a joke or a line. That was what made him such a good cop.

“Say, I wanted to ask how long you’re back for. This a permanent move, or what?” Erik dabbed at his sweating forehead with a hand and then wiped it on the back of his suit jacket.

Jonas frowned. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve a lot to sort out now. There’s a whole heap of things I need to do, and Dad’s place is a mess. He was a hoarder. You want a stack of newspapers from the nineties?”

Erik slapped a hand on Jonas’s back. “No thanks. Look, old collections of newspapers aside, I’m here for you, man. Where are you staying? At your father’s? You’d better not tell me you’ve shacked up in some downtown motel. You know we can find a room for you, no problem. Pippa would be glad to have you over. I’m serious.”

An ambulance suddenly sped past, and it turned its sirens on just as it rushed by the church. It was swiftly followed by another, and Jonas wondered where they were off to in such a hurry. Jeffersontown was a quiet place, and without the sounds of the speeding ambulances, the only audible sounds had been the faint tweeting of a cardinal, and his own thoughts. The ambulances disappeared taking their warped sirens with them. Jonas looked up into the blue sky. There was not a cloud anywhere. He saw the trace wisp of a plane’s vapour trail, a fleeting line of white arching across the sky.

“Thanks, Erik, but I’m staying at Dad’s place. I really need to get on top of things there, so it’s handy for me to stay in the house. I’ll be around for a while, so we can catch up. You coming to the crematorium after?”

“No can do. Sorry, but Freya’s got netball, and Peter’s in the middle of exams. Why don’t I swing by tomorrow? You free for lunch?”

“Sure. If we don’t catch up later, you can meet Dakota then. You’ll love her.” Jonas heard the priest calling to him, and waved a hand to let the priest know he was on his way. The service was about to start, and it would not be cool to be late for your own father’s funeral.

“Dakota? You finally get a woman? How long did that take you?” Erik removed his hand as the two men began walking up to the church together.

“Been married almost eight years now. Met her in Phoenix. Couldn’t imagine life without her, you know?” Jonas wanted to get inside now. He wanted it over with. He wanted to fast forward time, and skip the next three hours at least. He wanted to go straight to drinking, to remember his father, and then to forget him. Dakota was waiting for him, probably sobbing her heart out even though she had never met his old man. That was just the way she was. She cried at the news, she cried at movies, and she cried at the funerals of people she didn’t even know.

“Say, is Janey inside already?” asked Erik. “It’d be good to say hi after all these years.”

Jonas knew Erik had always had a thing for his sister, going way back to when all three of them hung out as teenagers, but there would be no reconciliation today. He shook his head. “She couldn’t make it.”

Erik looked surprised. “For her own father’s funeral?”

“She’s busy, truly.” Jonas didn’t know why he felt guilty explaining Janey’s absence. His father had never made excuses for her, and he shouldn’t have to justify why she wasn’t here. Then again, Erik believed the Hamsikkers were a happy family. He didn’t know what happened when the doors were closed, and the lights went out.

“Janey’s a dancer now. She moved up to Canada years ago. Married, three kids, the whole works.”

Erik’s bushy red eyebrows turned down as he processed the information. “A dancer? Janey?”

Jonas could see the surprise on Erik’s face. “Not that kind of dancer, Erik. She’s with a theatre company up there. Does all sorts of musical theatre, shows, film adaptations, everything. Keeps her busy, and I know she loves it. She’s got an important production on at the moment, so she couldn’t get the time off. Honestly, she’s a workaholic. I talk to her on the phone a lot, but don’t get the chance to get up there much.” Jonas felt bad lying about why Janey wasn’t at the funeral, but the truth would’ve been much worse. He changed the subject, eager to steer the conversation away from his sister. “So how about you? You’re quite the hot shit cop around here. Lovely wife, a house in the ‘burbs, and to top it off, a boy and a girl. How’s that working out for you?”

“Living the dream, brother, living the dream. My kids are smart, cute, and costing me a fortune. How about you? Any kids?” asked Erik.

Jonas shook his head again, and they reached the priest who was impatiently waiting at the church doors. “Happy as we are, thanks. Look, I have to…”

“Absolutely. Sorry, man. I’ll see you later.” Erik disappeared through the massive oak doors of the church, and Jonas turned to the priest.

“Ready when you are,” Jonas said feeling a bead of sweat roll down his back.

There was a fluttering of nervousness as Jonas entered the church, and he felt like he was ten years old again, walking up to the stage at school to take assembly. He had always hated being the centre of attention, and didn’t doubt that he always would. As he walked, he made a point of not looking at anyone in the pews. The mumbling and sobbing told him enough. He didn’t need to see their eyes, their grief, their accusations and shame, because he felt enough of that himself without anyone else’s help.

He sank down into the pew at the front next to Dakota and she slipped her hand into his. It was reassuring, yet cool, and he became aware again of how hot he was. He loosened his tie, pulling it down just a fraction so he could breathe. The sweltering heat from outside had been replaced by cool air and icy stares. His suit could protect him from only so much, and the moment he was dreading was upon him. The priest had taken up residence by the lectern, and motioned for Jonas to step up as he said a few words.

Dakota leaned over to her husband. “I’m here, honey. I’ll go up with you if you want?”

Jonas looked at her. They could have been climbing the Rockies, flying over a volcano, or crawling through mud; it didn’t matter. He knew she would be there for him, just as he would be there for her. It had been a conscious decision not to have children, much to the chagrin of Dakota’s parents. They loved each other so much that they just didn’t want anything to come between them. Neither had any urges to raise children, and so they decided not to. Of course, now and again, doubts crept into their minds, and it wasn’t an easy decision. Right now though, he knew it was the correct decision.

Dakota looked beautiful. Normally, she wore bright colours, but today was a black day. Her shoulder length hair was tied in a bun, and a few grey hairs were exposed. They normally hid behind her ears, showing themselves only when she was nervous, or when she tied her hair up. Jonas knew she could go bald, or dye her hair purple, and he would still love her.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll go.”

He gripped her hand and then let it go. Walking slowly, he approached the open casket. It was nothing fancy, just what they could afford, but without children, they had managed to save well. He didn’t really care if his father was buried in a cheap suit and a garbage bag, but then Dakota would’ve started asking questions: questions he didn’t want to answer. He and his father had grown apart over the years. He knew he should’ve come back sooner, when he’d found out about the illness, but there was always something stopping him. Well, he was back now. He had seen his father just once in the last ten years, and that had been last week. He had left Dakota behind, not knowing it was as urgent as it had turned out to be. His father had barely known him. He was so frail that he couldn’t even get out of bed, and Jonas was shocked at his appearance. Why hadn’t the old man told him sooner? Why had he not asked him to come home? Jonas preferred to remember his father as a young man, when he could still play ball and get around on his own, instead of lying in a hospital bed with a bag to piss into.

And there he was. His father, or at least his father’s body, laid out for all to see like a prize at a local show. Religion had not played much of a part in Jonas’s upbringing. His mother had died when he was ten, and with it, so had his father’s faith. As Jonas looked down into the casket, he decided he should’ve paid extra for the velvet lining. The varnished wood looked fine, but now he felt cheap. All those watching eyes, all those people at his back who were undoubtedly thinking the same thing, were pressing down on his head. Poor old Mr Hamsikker, let down by his failure of a son again, stuffed into a cheap wooden box, ready to be sent to the bonfire-house just so his son wouldn’t have to visit the grave.