David Bernstein: Machines of the Dead

Sitting in his chair an hour later, playing Xbox, he felt more useless than ever. Everyone at the bunker had a job. He didn’t. He was also the only non-military employee in the place. How was this possible? But he knew the answer. He was close enough to the bunker for Reynolds to send a team for him and his wife. Reynolds had gotten Jess’ name from the police report. Once the outbreak occurred, he had no time to go around the city rounding up infected, but going into a building directly above the bunker, a building that his corporation owned, had been within reason.

So what could Jack do to make a difference? To help? He thought of Zaun. Was his friend still alive? Was anyone in his building still alive? To traipse around the city was crazy, but what about just going to his building? That wasn’t so nuts, was it? He didn’t think so. That’s what he could do. Get some of the guards together, lead an expedition into his building, and see if there were any survivors. And if he or any of the others became infected, they would know how to kill the bots, becoming uninfected again. He had to see if Reynolds would go for it.

Jack rapped on Reynolds’ door, the man’s room more like an apartment. The doctor had a king-sized bed, a computer, a large bookcase, filled with various titles, a bathroom with a stall shower-Jack and the others had a communal washroom-and a faux fireplace with some kind of furry creature skin rug in front. Pictures of various outdoor landscapes hung on the walls.

“Keeps me from going nuts,” Reynolds said, noticing Jack looking at the pictures. He was sitting in a red leather recliner in front of the fireplace, sipping from a stout, yet bulbous glass, with what looked like brandy in it.

“Nice place you have here, doc.”

“Thank you. It’s not home, but it’ll do. Now, what can I help you with, Jack?”

Jack took a seat in a chair opposite Reynolds. He felt heat emanating from the imitation fireplace.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Would you like a drink? Cognac?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Reynolds got up, went over to a cabinet, produced an identical glass to his, unscrewed the cap on an unlabeled bottle of dark, auburn-colored liquid, and poured two fingers worth of the stuff. Sitting back down, he handed the glass to Jack.

Jack brought the drink to his nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. He sipped, then swallowed, feeling the delightful burn as the alcohol trickled down his gullet. He had never tasted a better brandy.

“Only two thousand of these bottles were made,” Reynolds said, tapping the glass with a finger.

“Fantastic stuff,” Jack told him, taking another small sip.

“Mixed with Cognac from the 1830’s up to the middle 1990’s. Four thousand dollars a bottle at time of direct sale.”

Jack almost choked.

“Enjoy it my friend, for who knows if we’ll get to experience something like it for some time.”

The two men sat quiet for a few moments, each enjoying the liquor before Jack finally spoke.

“I’ve been feeling really useless around here. I eat and take up space. I want to contribute somehow.”

“Jack, you’ve been through a tough ordeal. No one is looking at you as ‘ useless. ’ You’re healing and when you’re up to it, we’ll find something for you to do.”

“That’s just it; I’m ready to do something. Sitting around, cooped up, it’s driving me crazy. All I do is dwell, and I’m tired of dwelling. I need to help and I think I’ve come up with a way I can.”

Reynolds shifted in his seat. “Tell me.”

“I want to go to the surface. See if there are any survivors in my old building. A small team, maybe three men and I can do it.”

“I can’t let you leave, Jack,” Dr. Reynolds said, shaking his head. “And my men only go out to gather subjects. Otherwise, I’d never risk their well-being. You may find this hard to believe, but it’s a nightmare up there. And as much as it ’ s confining down here, it’s Heaven compared to the surface. The men are petrified to go out, and I hate sending them, but it needs to be done. If it were up to them, they’d never leave.”

“Then I’ll go myself. I need this. I need to make a difference.”

“You have a sister, correct?”

Jack was taken aback. “Yes, how’d you know?”

“When you were brought in, I had a full background check done on you. I wasn’t going to let a crazy person or a murderer run loose in the bunker. From what I read, you’re a regular person. Except for that incident with your sister’s husband, which was clearly something the guy had coming.”

Jack was speechless. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or relieved that the doctor trusted him. Thinking about it, he understood the need to check up on him. He would have done the same.

“He did,” Jack said. “But back to the topic at hand.” He looked Reynolds in the eyes. “I need to see if anyone’s alive. I had a friend up there, the guy your guards zapped and left. If anyone is alive, it’s him.”

“I’m not going to convince you that this is a bad idea, am I?”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

“And you’re going to bug me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Jack took another sip of the auburn liquor. “Look, worse case, you lose another mouth to feed.”

“Don’t put it like that, Jack. We’re fine here, and able to feed at least ten more people without compromising our reserves.” The man paused, and Jack could tell he was thinking. “Okay, but you’ll need to work on procedure with one of the guards. And I need your word that you won’t go anywhere else but your building. To do so would be suicide.”

“You have my word.”

“And if no one is alive, I don’t want to hear how you want to go traipsing around to other buildings. If that’s the case, then maybe it would be wisest for you to leave on a permanent basis.”

Jack felt like he had been struck. The doctor’s tone had darkened, almost threateningly.

“Just the one building. That’s all. Believe me; I don’t want to have to wander the streets looking for a place to survive in.”

The doc’s face brightened. “Okay then. See Guard Commander Chambers. He’ll set you up with whatever you’ll need and figure out the best way to get you into the building.”

Jack downed the last of the Cognac, placed the glass down, and went to get up.

“And Jack,” the doc said, catching his gaze. “Good luck to you. I hope you find your friend.”

Jack left the room without bringing up the escape tunnel, or if he could come up with a mass solution to the epidemic, how the man planned to communicate with the outside world. He would save that for when he was back in the safety of the bunker.

The next day, Kyle Chambers, the Guard Commander and a former army ranger, prepared Jack for his mission, showing him the ins and outs of rope climbing. Later in the day, he went over the weapon he would be taking with him: an M4 carbine machine gun. Being an avid hunter and having fired a number of different weapons, Jack became quickly accustomed to the gun. Chambers also went over the finer points of killing a zombie: destroy the brain, or destroy the bots, both of which Jack already knew.

“This is a grappling gun,” Chambers said, going over the final piece of Jack’s equipment. “It uses compressed air and is virtually silent, like firing a BB gun. You’ve got a cylinder attached, holding 100 feet of rope at 9 m illimeter thickness. It looks thin, but it’s plenty strong, capable of holding up to three times your weight, so don’t worry about it snapping or anything.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”