Nano Zombie: Redemption

Nano Zombie:

Redemption

by Paul Westwood

The Second Book of the Nano Zombie Series

Copyright 2013 Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

The little generator caught and choked to life, gasping away like a dying man drawing his last breath. The lights overhead flickered and then sprang to life with a yellow glow. I could see that we were in room with concrete walls. There were two little cots, a camping stove and four metal utility shelves filled with dusty canned goods and boxes. We had hit the jackpot.

Damn, that thing is loud, Peter said, the quaver in his voice betraying the fear we both felt. He was a normally a big man who had been pared down by starvation to nothing but bones wrapped in skin. His hollow eyes were now like brown discs sunk deeply into hollow cheeks. Though now painfully thin, he still managed to find a well of unfaltering strength inside. He was a good companion and had saved my life more times than I could count. Of course I had done the same for him on multiple occasions. It is good to have someone share the burdens when the whole world is against you.

Don’t worry, I replied, trying to sound brave. The Dark Eyes haven’t found this place yet. We’re safe here. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk lighting a fire down here. We would suffocate.

He slipped off his dust mask. Whatever you say, Emily, he said with a broad grin that displayed a broken row of gray and yellow teeth. A life without dentists does have side effects. I just don’t like being trapped down here. We’ll be sitting ducks if they come around.

I pointed to the food on the shelves. Yeah, but would you rather starve than eat? Just look at all of this stuff. We’re going to eat like kings.

We were inside someone’s survival shelter, a concrete bunker that had been sunk under the basement. Peter had discovered it accidentally while we had been searching a burned out home near the town of Mossonee, which was located on the Hudson Bay in the country formerly known as Canada. The town itself had been destroyed long ago, the looters and then the Dark Eyes having stripped everything of value. This once magnificent house was located on a hill overlooking the city. Down in the basement, Peter had stubbed his toe on a metal trap door. In our weakened state it took the both of us to free the hinges that hadn’t been used for years.

He made a face. I suppose you have a point, skinny. What do you want to eat?

What don’t I want to eat? I’ll take anything. Pushing the dust mask off, I went over to the shelves and reached for the first thing I found: a box of candy bars. I grabbed it, removed the cardboard cover and took one out. Tearing open the plastic wrapping, I bit into the chocolate and let out a sigh. It had been days since I had eaten real food. As far as I was concerned, the dead beetles we had found under a rock didn’t count. When I had finished that first candy bar, I started in on a second.

Slow down there, Peter warned. You’ll get sick at this rate. And that’s no way to ration the food. This stuff has to last us a long time.

Don’t be silly, there’s plenty here. We could eat for months on this stuff.

And then starve, he snapped back. We have to be careful. You know that. Now what should we make to eat?

Anything you like, I replied sourly. My stomach felt a little queasy and my head was spinning from the sudden rush of sugar. I went and sat down on the nearest cot, sending a puff of fine dust into the air. The damn dust. It was everywhere, clogging the nose and mouth until I wanted to choke. The dust masks helped but I grew tired of smelling my own sweat.

Peter began sorting through the cans. He selected a large one, blew the dust off the top, and then read the label. How does chicken stew sound?

Go ahead, I replied without too much enthusiasm. My stomach was really hurting now.

He went over to the propane stove, gave the tank plunger a few pushes, and, to his apparent surprise, successfully started the burner underneath. Using a pot, he soon had the can open and the stew began to bubble merrily away. It smelled good.

I wonder what happened to the owners of this place, I asked out loud even though I already knew the answer.

Peter momentarily lifted his gaze from the flickering blue flame of the pot. They’re probably dead, he quietly stated.

Yeah, I said, thinking of all the terrible things I had experienced in the past years. I had seen my mother and father become Dark Eyes: the relentless infected killing machines that had taken over the world. I had lost Brent, my sort of foster dad and best friend. His fate was unknown, but when I last saw him, he had been trying to stop the Dark Eyes so the survivors in the town of St. Ignace could make their escape. I had ended up throwing my lot in with a bunch of refugees who were traveling north to farm and try to rebuild some semblance of a normal life. It was hoped that Canada would be cool enough to grow crops. Instead we had found nothing but more drought, heat, and death.

I couldn’t remember why the Earth had gotten so much hotter, but any thoughts in that direction were needless. There weren’t many people left to blame. The heat was a matter of fact and we, the remaining survivors, had to deal with it. So instead of green pastures and wild game, Canada wasn’t that much better than America. The infernal dust was everywhere and the relentless sun still baked the soil into a hard packed floor that stopped anything, except dry ragged weeds from growing, no matter how much water you gave the seeds. The land had turned into an inhospitable desert.

From the very beginning the little group I had joined had been harassed by the Dark Eyes, or the Infecteds, as Brent used to call them. They followed us north, attacking without fear. In the early days of their existence they had been nearly mindless with only the desire to spread the Infection further and further. But as time passed, they had regained their intelligence but without any trace of humanity. The Dark Eyes were cruel, alien, and dangerous. One bite could turn a human into one of them, making each loss on our side irrevocable. There was, however, an inoculation available that made those, lucky enough to get it, immune. I was one of the few, as was Peter, who could never be turned into a Dark Eye. Of course we could still die – a bullet, dehydration, or starvation was always an alternative in this dangerous new world.

The source of this miraculous inoculation was Brent, who had discovered the original source of the Infection. It had been the military who unleashed this horror on humanity – a secret weapon designed to overtake a foreign country, turning the population against itself. Of course they invented a drug to stop their own soldiers from getting sick, but the accidental release of specially designed nanobots – robots so small that they could travel through the blood – made such precautions too late. Because of a careless accident, the Infection had spread from America’s shores, forever dooming the already frail state of humankind.

So here I was, thin and starving, barely scraping by day after day. My only companion was Peter, who I had known these past five years of hardship. We had become like brother and sister, the bonds of starvation drawing us closer and closer. Of all the refugees from St. Ignace, we were the only ones left. The rest had been hunted down, one by one, until only we remained. Those lucky few who had received the inoculation were killed while the others had been transformed into Dark Eyes, fated to increase the size and power of that infernal horde of monstrosities.

However, the Dark Eyes had forgotten one thing: food. The earth was barren now, with only scraggly yellow weeds barely growing in the dry hard soil. One reminder of the old world were the trees, now leafless and dry; their branches like gaunt hands reaching into the sky above. There were still a few bugs too, feeding of the flesh of the dead. No crops would grow and no livestock could be raised. The only food left had been canned years ago. With no replenishment, soon everyone, including the Dark Eyes, would starve to death.

The chicken is ready, Peter declared. He fumbled around with some plates, plastic forks, and cups.

I nodded slowly as if coming out of a dream. It wasn’t a good idea to think of the past, not when the present required so much attention. We sat at the table and began to eat. Though my sore stomach initially rebelled against the flood of nutrients, my hunger was enough that it didn’t care. I didn’t say anything until the last drip of gravy on the paper plate had been scraped clean. After that, I took a few sips of water from the cup. Since it came from our own canteen, it tasted like an old sock, which was no surprise since that’s what we used to filter out the dust.

You seem to have a lot on your mind, Peter said as he watched me with sad eyes.

I do. I was just thinking of everything that has happened to us. You know, the day I met you and we fled St. Ignace. We’re lucky to be alive, aren’t we?

Yes, he said, each letter of the word coaxed out with a lingering drawl. Though I don’t know how much longer we can last up here in Canada.

What do you mean? I pointed to the shelf with all the food. We can stay here for weeks now. It’s a good place to stay hidden; out of the way of the Dark Eyes. We’ll be safe here.

Peter shook his head, but kept the eyes stayed locked on mine. But what are we going to do afterward? I mean after the food runs out. We’ve been scratching out an existence up here in Canada, looting what we can from the little towns and cabins, but we can’t do this forever. We’re going to run out of food someday and then what will we do?

I don’t know, I snapped back. It was hard to think of the future when every day was a struggle. We’ll probably starve, unless the Dark Eyes get us first. Since you’re so smart, what do you think we should do?

Head back south, he stated as if it was just a simple matter. Let’s go back to Michigan.

You make it sound easy. It’s a long way to go on foot.

It won’t be easy, he admitted. But there are big cities there. We can find food.

All the food there would already have been taken, I protested. All of that traveling would be for nothing. Anyway, it’ll be too hot and the Black Eyes will be there. There’s probably more of them there. We could get killed.

He took a sip from his paper cup. You’re probably right. But I could tell he wasn’t going to let this idea go.

It was an old argument and one that I wasn’t in the mood for. Peter always wanted to see the tall buildings, long highways, and the crowds of the cities. Ever since he was a child, he had wanted to escape from the rural emptiness of the small town he had grown up in. I noticed that being raised in a closed community often had that effect on a person. However the big cities were now death traps, overrun by disease and violence, and that was even before the Dark Eyes had come on the scene. Who knew what the cities were like now. I could only imagine the worst.

We should get some rest, I suggested.

Together, we moved the two cots together. Though the days were hot, the nights were as cold as any winter. I carried a sleeping bag, as did Peter. Each time we went to sleep, they were zipped together so we could be wrapped in each other’s arms in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Before going to bed, I went and turned the generator off, plunging the room into darkness. Only the faint moonlight from the cracks of the trapdoor above could be seen. I got inside the sleeping bag which smelled of sweat. Peter put his arms around me. I felt content and safe. With my stomach full, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

I was dreaming. I was much younger, playing with my parents in a park filled with happy people. The bright sun was high in the sky but the grass was lush and green, quite unlike the dry barren ground of today. I was being pushed on a merry-go-ground that was moving faster and faster, making my poor stomach churn. The face of my father flashed by as the spinning colors churned and blurred into a dizzying burst. I heard low voices. There was something wrong.

My eyes opened. I turned my head away from Peter. From the thin line of the trap door above, I saw a flash of light that came and disappeared. It was then that I heard a noise. It was footsteps. And then a husky voice above called out.

Are you sure you saw them come to this house?

Yes, another answered. And they did not leave.

I could tell by the flat monotone of the voices that the Dark Eyes were here. They spoke like unemotional robots. We had been foolish to assume that they had not seen us. Of course the nearby town was probably filled with them. Peter and I normally took turns while the other slept, but the food and the seeming safety of this shelter had put our guard down. That had been a mistake. Now we were trapped down here with nowhere to go. We would have to fight our way out.

Peter, I whispered urgently into his ear.

He stirred and was about to say something. I clamped my hand over his mouth before he had a chance to speak.

The Dark Eyes are here, I said in a low voice. I then pulled my hand away, knowing the message had penetrated that thick skull of his. He would know what to do.

Damn, was his only reply before slipping out of the sleeping bag. He scrambled towards his backpack. In the darkness he fought with the zippers, trying to find the pistol within.

I already had my little Colt revolver out since I slept with it tucked inside a worn leather shoulder holster I always wore. I got out of the sleeping bag, letting it fall to the floor with a rustle. Once again there was a flash of light at the crack of the trap door above.

What’s this? a muted voice asked.

It looks like an entrance, someone replied. Open it.

With a rusty squeak, the trapdoor opened. The artificial light above was just enough to dispel the gloom of the room. A foot appeared on the rung of the ladder. With a glance, I could see Peter now. He was on his knees, the large automatic Beretta in his hands, pointing in the direction of the coming intruders. I could see that he was ready to pull the trigger. Before he could do so, I rushed over and pulled his arm down.

Wait, I whispered in his ear. Together we drew back in the shadows, hiding behind one of the shelves of food.

It was just in time since the first Dark Eye was down on the floor now. He was holding a lantern, the flame inside flickering yellow and orange. In the light I could see he was dressed in a dirty work jacket. His hair was long and blackness of his alien eyes was magnified by the extreme shadows. Like us, he was painfully thin. There was something inhuman about his appearance, almost as if the infection inside had worn away the character of his face.

There’s no one here, he called to his comrades above. It is safe to come down.

Two other quickly followed. Each was dressed differently than their friend. One had a grimy police uniform while the other wore nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants. Both of them were carrying rifles. For such a hive-like mind, one expected a uniform of sorts, but instead their clothing was only a matter of necessity for these inhuman creatures; I’ve seen everything from finely cut, but dirty tuxedos to complete nudity. The cold of night or the heat of the day had no apparent effect on them, yet another side-effect of the nanobot infection. Their bodies were only mere vehicles for the host that lived deep inside.

Take the food, the man in the uniform said, his voice flat as cardboard. We need it.

In unison, they turned and headed towards the shelves where we were hiding. I didn’t give them a chance to find us. Clutching my pistol, I rose and fired, hitting the Infected wearing the sweatpants directly in the forehead. After all these years of surviving I had learned to be a good shot. My target went tumbling backward, his arms flailing in a wild pantomime of pain. Peter was only a second behind me. His larger Beretta was a little harder to handle, but two shots put the one wearing the police uniform down.

The remaining Dark Eye did not flinch or retreat. Instead, with a crash, he dropped the lantern and started running toward us, his mouth open with an inhuman screech. This is what made these creatures so dangerous: a relentless need to attack, bite, and infect those who were unlike them. Peter and I fired at the same time. The combined force of our bullets sent our attacker twisting to the side where he fell into one of the shelves. He then died silently without a moan or whimper escaping from those clenched teeth.

Peter and I didn’t even say anything to each other. Words would come later. Instead it was time to gather what we could and get out of there. Once the Dark Eyes realized that some of their numbers were missing, the whole horde from the town would come out searching. I ran for my backpack, took out my jacket, and began shoveling food inside. With practiced hands, Peter began rolling up the sleeping bags. When he was done with that task, he pulled on his coat and began to dump in his pack whatever food he could carry. It was too bad that so much would be left behind. It would have been better if we could have stayed here and enjoyed the unexpected bounty.

When we were done packing, Peter then took the still lit lantern, opened the base, and dumped the fuel onto the shelves containing the remaining food. The room swam with the fumes of kerosene. He then threw the lantern. The top shattered when it hit the floor, igniting the rations in a burst of flame. Coughing, we slipped our dust masks back on and clambered up the ladder.

The dust masks went back on. It was bitterly cold outside. The stars twinkled above with no clouds to block the view. The moon hovered over the horizon, shining through the thin dead branches. The shadows were strange: a mixture of pitch black and dark grays interspersed by a crowd of white trees, the bark stripped away by the tireless wind. On the ground it was dust – pushed against the walls of the destroyed house or spun in some strange pattern by the shifting winds. Below the hill was Mossonee, the buildings dark except for a fire burning brightly in the middle of town. The Dark Eyes were keeping watch.

Peter grabbed my hand and began pulling me along.

Where are we going? I asked in a whisper.

After a long sigh, he said quietly, I mean to go south, back to America. You can come with me or stay here.

But why are you so set to go? Why now? I protested as we trudged along.

"I’m tired of scrambling around and just barely surviving. I’m tired of fighting the Dark Eyes. We have to find a way to live for a change. You can