David Bernstein: Machines of the Dead

“Looks like wounds from taser prongs,” Jack asked.

Maria nodded. “Shit. This guy’s been tasered, and recently. Look at how fresh the wounds are.”

Jack agreed. The marks where the prongs had attached themselves were still raw.

“Whoa,” Zaun said, backing away. “Are you telling me this guy was tasered and he stayed infected?”

“We can’t know for certain, but it appears so.” Maria stood.

“You’re telling me those things are unstoppable now? That once we’re infected we’re fucked?”

“No, she isn’t saying that,” Jack said, “but we have no idea what happened to this man. Maybe the taser charge wasn’t strong enough. Factory defect. Who knows?”

“Are we waiting to see if he gets up?” Zaun asked. “Or should I run him through?”

Jack and Maria moved out of the way and let Zaun destroy the corpse’s brain, using his sword.

“Maybe he was infected right after he was tasered,” Maria suggested.

“It’s possible,” Jack agreed, but didn’t think it likely. “If there is a new strain of bot and it’s immune to the voltage in a taser then we have to be extra careful.”

“This just brought suck to a whole new level,” Zaun said.

Maria nodded, staring at the corpse.

She stripped the dead body of ammo and the group headed to the room at the bottom of the stairs. A crate containing ten MRE’s, twelve bottles of water and a first aid kit sat next to a cot.

Using his flashlight, Jack checked the corridor that led back to the tunnel. He told the others it looked clear. Everyone put fresh clips and magazines into their weapons, grabbed the food, water, and first aid kit, then headed down the long, dark passage by flashlight.

Reaching a security door, Jack used the keycard and entered the code. Hearing the familiar click, weapons ready, he opened the door.

He let out a sigh of relief when no one stuck a gun in his face. The tunnel was still illuminated by the overhead lights. The group moved forward without talking, wanting to be able to hear if anyone was up ahead. Their footfalls seemed to grow louder over time, but only the stillness of the tunnel made it seem that way. Some time later, nerves on end, they came to the split in the passageway, one path leading back to the bunker, the other to some unknown location.

Taking the “mystery” tunnel, the group went on. A short time later, much shorter than the trek they took in the other tunnel, the group came upon another security door.

“No way we’re out of the city,” Zaun said.

“No, definitely not,” Jack agreed. He felt a portion of the hope he had inside leak out like the air in a punctured tire. It appeared they would have to fight their way out of the city, and with limited ammo and supplies. Thinking of all they had gone through, he grew even more determined, the deflating tire filling with air. He wouldn’t lose hope now. Couldn’t let himself become overwhelmed with doubt. They’d come too far to give up. If they had to, they would fight with every cell in their bodies.

With renewed vigor, Jack used the keycard and had the door opened in seconds. They entered an empty room with an elevator and a set of stairs leading up. An overhead light shined dimly. They took the metal-mesh stairs up five flights before coming to a small landing and another security door. With no idea what to expect, every closed door a potential nightmare, Jack did his thing and had the door unlocked in no time.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s do this,” Maria said.

Jack opened the door and saw the back end of a Chevy Tahoe. Stepping inside, he saw that he was in some kind of garage. To his left, lined up like racehorses, were three more identical black SUV’s. The garage had no windows save for three skylights above; each one permitting bright sunlight to pour in.

Jack walked over to a door. He figured it led to the outside. He tried the knob. It turned. Opening it a crack, he peered out, the cold wind causing his eyes to water. Through teary vision, he saw a paved lot. About thirty feet across from him was a small building with six bodies strewn in front and all wearing the familiar black fatigues. Over the door was the word “maintenance.” Maintenance my ass, Jack thought. Behind the building were two chain-link fences topped with spiraling razor wire. A number of undead were pawing at the outer fence. There was a sign on the inner fence, the writing too small to read, but the large yellow lightning bolt was all he needed to see, letting him know the fence was electrified. Closing the door, he told the others what he saw.

“So now what?” Zaun asked.

“We check out the area,” Jack said. “Take it from there.”

Opening the door again, a little farther this time, he checked to make sure the area was clear, then stepped out, the others right behind him.

They were in another industrial part of one of the outer boroughs, Queens or Brooklyn most likely. Hundreds of undead surrounded the place, the outer fence keeping them at bay. About seventy-five feet to the left was a long narrow building that ran along the shoreline of the Hudson River. Manhattan stood on the other side of the water, still standing proud despite the undead filling its streets. With fresh meat in their sights, the undead became more animated, their bloodied, torn bodies almost seeming to dance in place.

“I don’t think we should be out in the open like this,” Maria said.

The group headed to the maintenance building. The dead guards’ faces were gaunt, cheekbones protruding like pieces of granite. Eyes seemed to float deep in their sockets as if held by wet paper towel, and the flesh was sickly, discolored, as if bleached. Each body was riddled with bullet holes, including the heads.

“What the hell happened here?” Zaun asked.

“Looks like they were infected,” Jack said. “Made it this far before they were killed.”

“I don’t see Reynolds among them,” Maria offered.

“I’m guessing the bots they were infected with were immune to the Taser’s voltage.” Jack said, “Or maybe they didn’t have Tasers with them.”

“Yeah,” Zaun said. “I don’t see any.”

“There’s no time to figure that out,” Maria said. “We need to make a decision and do something.” She pointed toward the undead. “I don’t think the fences will hold forever and we have no idea if the electricity will stop them.”

“You’re right,” Jack said, noticing how the fence was severely bowing inward in places.

He and the others entered the maintenance building, the front door unlocked.

Inside were computers and desks, the place resembling a miniature version of the warehouse back in Brooklyn. Papers were strewn about, desk drawers lay open and on the floor.

Jack wanted to believe in a time of crisis that law and order would prevail. Sure the undead were walking around. They were in the majority now, at least in the city, but what about the other parts of the country? Was there still a military? A police force? Or had everyone gone solo? People had families, loved ones that needed protecting. The epidemic was proving to be apocalyptic. If that was the case, then no one and nowhere was safe. It was individuals looking out for themselves, their families. It was human nature. Maybe Reynolds’ men had a fallback position, a place out of the city where they could work.

“There’s nothing here,” Maria said. “We need to move. If those fences give out we’ll be trapped in here.”

They headed over to the building by the water.

The door wasn’t secured. The two locks that had been on it were on the ground, opened. Jack put his ear to the door. He came away shrugging. Looking at the others, he whispered, “on the count of three we go in.” Facing the door, Jack pulled out his. 9mm and on the count of three, the group charged inside.