Zombie Off 2: Revelation

ZOMBIE OFF 2 - REVELATION

by Scott Lee

Copyright 2015 Scott Lee

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

This is the second book in the ZOMBIE OFF series. Although you could certainly read this as a stand-alone novel, it would be much better if you read the first book of the series, ZOMBIE OFF, beforehand. Please consider doing this. I refer back to the first book often, and it most certainly would help you understand and follow the story arcs. The prequel, ZOMBIE OFF - The Beginning, is also recommended. It will give you more insight into the storyline, although it is not a necessary read for this series.

Chemcorp has fallen. Morrow and Jamison are gone. Now, Connor and his friends, Doug and Diana, find themselves with the formula for creating ZOMBIE OFF. But one key piece of the puzzle is missing, and there’s only one place to find it. Returning to the devil’s den, the three weary companions find far more than they bargained for, and a discovery that changes everything.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Other Fine Books by Scott Lee:

ZOMBIE OFF - The Beginning

(a prequel short story)

ZOMBIE OFF (Book 1)

ZOMBIE OFF 3 - LEGION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost I want to thank my best friend on this planet, Doug Ward, without whom I would likely have never written this series. If not for his constant pushing for me to pen my ideas, I’d probably still be sitting with just a few notes in a leather journal. Doug is also responsible for all of the fantastic covers of the ZOMBIE OFF series, and for his hard work I am extremely grateful. I’d also like to thank his wonderful wife (and my dear friend) April Ward who graciously posed for the cover of this book. Well done, April!

Finally, I’d like to thank my many friends and family for the wonderful support given to me through the many months of writing. Your words of encouragement did not fall on deaf ears. Last, but certainly not least, thanks to my wife Chris for supporting me through this ongoing adventure and listening to my endless talk about preparing for the upcoming zombie apocalypse.

CHAPTER 1

Connor stared out at the highway as the miles flew by. He was hot and tired from a long day in the field; his body and clothes still caked with dirt.

Man, I can’t wait to get home and get a shower, he said wearily. It was brutal out there today.

I hear ya, said Paul.

Looking to his right, he smiled at his friend and coworker. He too was covered from head to toe in dirt. Looking over his shoulder, the other three archaeologists on his crew were dozing in the back seat, part of the perks of not being the crew chief.

Looking back to the road, he smiled as he held his hand in front of the air conditioning vent.

At least this truck has working AC, he said.

Thank God, said Paul. "Wasn’t expecting it to get so hot so soon in the season.

After another 20 minutes, Connor jumped slightly as an emergency vehicle appeared in his rear view mirror and raced by at a break neck speed. A minute later, two police cars raced by, followed by another ambulance.

What the hell is going on? asked Paul.

Don’t know. Just glad it isn’t affecting us. There’s our exit.

Moments later, Connor eased the large Chevy Suburban down the exit ramp and got into the left hand turn lane. As the light turned green, he began to pull out.

Stop! yelled Paul.

Hitting the brakes, Connor narrowly missed the small compact car that ran the red light in front of him.

Son-of-a-bitch! That guy nearly creamed us! yelled Connor.

As he completed the turn and headed for the office, the situation around them became increasingly chaotic. Cars were passing on the double yellow line. People were running stop signs, and in a nearby corporate center parking lot they could see people running from the building, while others seem to stagger out, as if injured or overcome with smoke. The strange thing was, there was no smoke that any of them could see.

Hearing the commotion, the rest of the crew woke up, looking around concerned.

What’s going on? asked Chris.

We don’t know, replied Paul. But some serious shit is happening.

Now less than a mile from the office, everyone was staring out the windows as the pandemonium unfolded around them. Narrowly avoiding collisions in the final two intersections, Connor was forced onto side streets as traffic jammed up on the main road.

Weaving along the back neighborhood, the archaeologists watched as bizarre scenes began to unfold around them. Off to their right, a husband and wife ran from their house and into their yard, the man holding his arm as blood dripped from between his fingers. Behind them, a teenage boy staggered from the house, blood dripping from his mouth.

What the fuck? yelled Chris.

As Connor watched the family, he heard the scream from the back seat a moment too late. Turning, he could only brace for impact as the large SUV slammed into the woman who had staggered into the street just moments before.

The woman’s body flew 10 feet through the air as Connor hammered the brakes, his head slamming against the headrest as the woman’s body tumbled to a stop in front of them.

Holy shit! yelled Paul. She came out of nowhere!

Jumping from the vehicle, Paul raced to the aid of the woman who was sprawled out on the pavement.

You guys OK? asked Connor, looking into the back seat.

As Connor scanned the three crew members, his gaze came to rest on Rachael, whose eyes had gone wide with fear. Turning, Connor watched in horror as the injured woman sat up, a startled Paul still kneeling next to her. Rachael screamed in horror at what happened next.

As Paul knelt frozen in front of the woman, shocked at her sudden rising, she leaned forward and tore a massive chunk of flesh from his neck, blood spraying across the woman’s face and body. Clutching his throat, Paul fell backwards as the woman dove on top of him, tearing at his flesh. Paul’s head turned to the side, his hand reaching out to the truck as the life drained from his eyes.

Before another scream was heard in the truck, Connor was on the move. Reaching for his utility belt, which was on the floor next to him, he pulled his machete from its sheath and dashed from the vehicle. No sooner had he climbed out of the door than the crazed woman turned her attention to him.

As he raced to his friend’s aid, the woman rose from the pavement and let out a hideous, bone-chilling moan that stopped Connor in his tracks. As he stood, staring at the blood soaked woman, his gaze met hers, and that’s when he knew.

Looking at the soulless gray eyes, he knew what stood before him. It was no woman, and it was no longer human. Connor was standing face to face with a zombie.

In an instant the creature was advancing on Connor, the terrifying moans continuing to pour from its blood soaked mouth. Nearby, Connor could here others of her kind as they answered her call of prey.

Gripping his machete, he strode forward, meeting the zombie halfway. As they closed to within a few feet, the undead horror reached out just as Connor’s machete arced through the air, burying itself in the top of the creature’s head. The undead woman instantly fell to the ground, pulling Connor’s blade from his hand in the process.

Reaching down, Connor pulled on the blade, which was stuck in the creature’s skull. As he struggled to free his weapon, he watched in shock as Paul rose from the pavement in front of him, his head tilting to one side. His eyes, which minutes before had been full of life and happiness, were now gray and dead. His mouth opened, but no moan came out, his vocal cords having been torn from his body by the zombie that lay dead at his feet.

Connor continued to yank on the handle of his machete as his former friend shambled forward. Still the blade wouldn’t budge. Behind him, his friends were screaming for him to get back to the truck. Looking around, he could see people running for their lives as more and more of the undead came into view. Screams of the dying echoed throughout the neighborhood as police sirens wailed in the distance.

Turning back to Paul, or what used to be Paul, he had only seconds to act. Raising his left leg, he jumped and slammed his heavy work boot onto the head of the zombie at his feet, caving in the skull and freeing his blade. In one quick motion he swung the machete, separating Paul’s head from his body.

Spinning around, he raced for the truck and jumped into the drivers seat.

You killed them! You killed Paul! screamed Paula.

Shut up and lock the doors! he yelled as he cranked the engine.

But you killed them! she screamed again.

He was already dead! yelled Connor. Now shut the fuck up!

Throwing the SUV into gear, he stomped the gas pedal and raced down the street, ignoring the screams of the dying. Three more times he rammed into the dead as he raced the final three blocks to their office, never stopping in the process.

As he slid to a stop in the gravel parking lot, he grabbed his field bag and belt and raced for his car. As his co-workers climbed from the vehicle, he heard one of them call out in a panicked voice.

Where are you going?

To get my family! Go! Get inside, lock the doors and grab some weapons!

As he reached his vehicle, he whispered to himself as he thought of his friends.

If you believe in God, I suggest you pray. But I doubt it will matter.

Seconds later he was in his Subaru, racing from the parking lot. Behind him, his friends were already disappearing inside the building.

Connor backtracked through the neighborhoods as he raced to get to his family. Numerous times he drove through lawns and onto sidewalks to avoid the increasing pandemonium that had spilled onto the roads. Dozens of people lay dead or dying in the streets, the zombies feeding on their flesh. Others stood dazed and confused, clearly in a state of shock. Moments later they were swarmed over by hungry undead.

Reaching the 309 expressway, Connor joined the wave of panicked drivers trying to escape the chaos. Luckily, traffic was still moving, and five minutes later he was off the expressway and racing the final three miles to his house. The closer he got to home, the more difficult the driving became. Finally, he made the turn into his neighborhood, his heart sinking at the sights before him.

As with the area near his office, the streets and lawns were filled with the dead or dying. Everywhere he looked, the undead were rising, staggering after his vehicle. Racing the final three blocks, he pulled the Subaru directly onto his lawn and jumped from the car, machete still in hand.

From up the street he could see a half dozen zombies slowly staggering his way as he reached the front door. Pressing the handle, the door opened easily. Cautiously, he moved inside.

Christina! Lucas!! Are you here? he yelled.

A sickening moan responded from the living room to his left.

Oh god, no, he whispered.

Taking a step to his left, he peered into the room, his heart sinking at the sight. Across the room, his elderly mother-in-law was attempting to pull herself across the floor. Seeing Connor step into view, the zombie raised its head, her gray eyes locking with his.

I’m so sorry, mom, he whispered.

The creature was making little progress, so Connor turned and made his way upstairs. As he reached the top, he could hear frantic scratching from his son’s bedroom on his right. As he turned to the door, he heard a weak voice call out behind him.

Connor, no!

Turning, he could see the semi-closed door of the master bedroom, and in the full-length mirror that adorned it, he could see the prone body of his wife, lying on their bed. Racing into the room, the machete fell to the floor as he gazed upon his love.

No. Please no, he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

His wife laid upon the bed, holding her arm, blood trickling from a small bite mark that could be seen between her fingers.

Don’t open the door, she whispered weakly.

By now the tears were flowing freely from Connor’s eyes as he knelt on the floor next to the bed, grabbing her hand.

No. Not my boy.

Connor buried his head onto his wife’s chest as he openly wept. Tenderly, she stroked his head as she struggled to speak.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop it, she said softly.

Raising his head, he looked into his wife’s eyes, a half smile crossing his face.

It’s not your fault, he whispered as he brushed her hair aside.

Connor, you have to go. You have to get away.

I can’t leave you, he said, shaking his head.

You have to. You can’t die too.

Connor just stared into her eyes, saying nothing.

Promise me you’ll run, she whispered. You can’t die today. Not today.

Her voice was barely a whisper now and Connor knew she didn’t have much time left. A weak smile crossed her face as she spoke.

I always laughed at you, but somehow you knew. This is what you prepared for. You can survive. You have to survive.

Leaning forward, Connor kissed his wife’s lips, tears falling upon her cheeks as he rose from the floor. Moving to the closet, he opened the door and reached inside, pulling out an already full backpack, along with a large empty duffle bag. On the inside of the closet door hung a dozen large knives and two machetes. Quickly he loaded them into the duffle bag, along with two short swords that hung inside the closet.

Glancing over at his wife, he could see she was still alive, but her breathing was labored. He didn’t have much time. Closing the closet door, he grabbed his katana that leaned in the corner and slung it across his back. Moving quickly across the room, he reached between the dresser and the wall and pulled out a 12-gauge shotgun in a tactical scabbard. Tossing it across his back, he grabbed another gun case from the corner and turned to the bed.

Looking at his wife, he saw no movement of her chest. Tears streaming down his cheek, he moved to the bedpost and grabbed the giant knife hanging there. Pulling the blade free, he tossed the sheath into the duffle bag, and opened the drawer of the nightstand, never taking his eyes off his wife. Grabbing three boxes of ammunition from inside the drawer, he tossed them in the bag, zipped it up, and headed for the door.

As he rounded the end of the bed, he froze as he saw his wife’s foot twitch. Calmly he laid the duffle bag onto the floor, gripping the massive knife tightly in his left hand.

I’m so sorry, he whispered as his wife’s body rose from the bed. Please forgive me.

His wife was gone, now replaced by an undead abomination. Connor knew this as he drove the giant blade deep into the side of her skull. The body that was once his wife collapsed onto the bed, dead for the second time. As she hit the mattress, part of him died with her.

Turning, he picked up the duffle bag and backpack and headed across the hall. For over a minute he stood there, his forehead pressed against the door, listening to the scratching as his tears formed a small puddle at his feet. For minutes he sobbed uncontrollably as he thought of what his son had become. Inside, he wanted to die. He knew what had to be done, he just wasn’t sure he could do it.

He had to kill his son. He couldn’t leave him like this. Not like this. Not as one of them. He had to free him. Stepping back from the door, he pulled the shotgun from the scabbard and loaded a single shell into the chamber. Moving to the door, he pressed his ear against the thin wood, listening to the scratching. Stepping back, he looked at the pencil marks on the doorframe to his left. The top one had a date just three weeks before. Placing the barrel of the gun at the line, he moved it slowly across the door, stopping where he heard the scratching.

Go. Be with mommy, he whispered, the tears dripping from his face. I love you Lucas.

The rest of him died as he pulled the trigger.

The scratching had stopped. There was a smoking, splintered hole where the sound used to be as Connor turned towards the stairs. Pausing, he set the bags down and walked back into his bedroom and over to the long TV stand. On the base of the LED TV was a row of keys. Quickly he grabbed two motorcycle keys and a garage key and tossed them into his pocket.

Moving back to the stairs, he grabbed the bags and headed down to the front door. Setting the bags down, he turned to the living room where his undead mother-in-law still struggled to reach him. Walking up to the zombie, he knelt down in front of it.

Goodbye mom.

In a flash the knife pierced her skull, silencing her moans. Promptly he turned and headed for the door. Grabbing the bags, he moved quickly across the yard to the car. The zombies on the street were now just a house away as he tossed the bags into the back.

As he opened the door to get into the car, movement caught his eye. Peering into the bushes on the corner of the house, he saw their beloved cat, Monty, cowering in the shadows. Moving swiftly across the lawn, he knelt down and called out.

Hey buddy!

Quickly, the big gray tabby ran from the bushes to greet him. Snagging him up, Connor rushed to the car and tossed the cat into the open door. Jumping in, he closed the door and started the car, just as the zombies reached his yard.

Pulling the car around the large oak in front of him, he sped past the outstretched arms of the undead as he fled the neighborhood. Looking into their soulless gray eyes as he drove past them, he spoke just two words.

Not today.

CHAPTER 2

Jamison and Morrow stood atop the Pennsylvania Hospital rooftop, staring out over the swarm of zombies that surrounded the building. After a few minutes of crying, Morrow had gathered himself and now stood in a daze as he pondered their predicament. Along the walls and fences were tens of thousands of zombies, and he could see more staggering in their direction in the distance.

We’re dead, he muttered. We’re going to die here.

By now Jamison had had enough of Morrow and his blubbering and had begun walking along the wall, surveying the swarm. He could hear Morrow wallowing in self-pity as he looked out over the seething mass of undead, his hand gripping the small hunting knife tightly. He didn’t say a word as he stared out over the grounds. He was still too angry to speak, furious at the recent turn of events.

He had underestimated his opponents, and if he made it out of this situation alive, he’d not make the same mistake twice. Looking out over the sea of zombies, the slightest of smiles crossed his face. As much as he’d underestimated the girl and her friends, they too had underestimated him. For they had no way of knowing that he had worked at this very hospital as head of security years before, and he knew every door and hallway in the place. With his knowledge of the buildings, he knew how to escape. The only trick was getting past the zombies.

Looking to his right, he knew right off that Morrow would be absolutely no help in getting out of the city alive. In fact, he’d most certainly be a huge liability. He’d allow his former boss to tag along for the time being, but he’d feed him to the zombies in a heartbeat if the situation warranted.

As he stared out over the sea of undead, his mind went back to when he left the girl and her companions on the roof. And that’s when it hit him. The ZOMBIE OFF. When his men had disembarked from the helicopter, they had sprayed themselves down with ZOMBIE OFF before leaving the roof and heading into the hospital. They had used a single can for the five-man team, and when they were done applying it, he had tossed the can aside on the roof, next to the air conditioning unit. The can was still there! It was nearly empty from what he remembered, but there might just be enough for one more application. If he could get to that can, he should be able to escape the hospital, and maybe make it out of the city alive.

Hiding his excitement, Jamison slowly walked to the wall that overlooked the adjacent building where the helicopter had landed. As he had suspected, there was no way to reach the next building from the rooftops. He’d have to go inside, and that meant dealing with the zombies. Being he only needed to navigate the top floors, he figured he had a reasonable chance to make it, but only if he went alone. Morrow would only slow him down.

Turning from the wall, Jamison headed for the door that led back into the building. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Morrow was still standing at the wall, semi catatonic, staring out over the grounds.

I’m going to scout around inside and see what we’re up against, he called out to Morrow. Wait here.

Morrow barely flinched at his words, never taking his eyes off of the horrifying scene below him. Shaking his head, Jamison listened at the door before slowly opening it.

Inside, the dark expanse of the massive maintenance room loomed before him. Standing quietly in the doorway, he listened for any sign of movement. Nothing. The sunlight from the doorway gave him some light to work with, but not as much as he’d like. Moving carefully along the perimeter of the room, he reached the other two doors and quickly opened them, letting additional daylight flood into the room.

With the additional light to see by, he quickly scanned the room for anything that could be of help in escaping the hospital and city. There wasn’t much to be found, except for a jumpsuit hanging on a hook along the one wall. Three empty hooks were next to it, which left him wondering if his enemies had taken them for their escape.

Resourceful, he thought to himself.

Grabbing the jumpsuit, he quickly put it on. After a few more minutes of looking, he was unable to find anything that would provide greater protection than the knife he was carrying, although he did manage to acquire a few small screwdrivers that he wedged into his belt.

Frustrated with his search, Jamison headed for the door that led to the main floors of the building. As he crossed the room, he couldn’t help but smile at his adversary’s mistakes.

Your first mistake was leaving me with a weapon, he muttered as he neared the door. Your second was giving me a clear path off of the roof, he finished.

Listening at the steel, he heard nothing. Smiling, he opened the door. A split second later, a half dozen long metal pipe sections that were leaning against the door suddenly fell into the room, the sound echoing loudly through the open expanse and down the stairwell.

Shit! exclaimed Jamison.

As the pipes stopped bouncing and the noise faded, the silence was suddenly replaced by another, far more sinister sound. The unearthly moan of the undead. Once again Jamison had underestimated his enemy. The bastard had laid a careful, yet simple trap for them, and he had walked right into it.

As he stood there, cursing his carelessness, he watched as dozens of shadowy forms materialized in the stairwell below him. Jamison’s first instinct was to slam the door and barricade it shut, but he knew that this would only make things worse. The stairwell was the only way out, and if he trapped the zombies on the other side of the door, he’d have to deal with them in a much tougher setting. Instantly he came up with a plan.

Leaving the stairwell door open, Jamison slowly walked back to the door that led to rooftop where Morrow was waiting. Reaching the opening, he stopped next to it and waited. After about 90 seconds, the first of the zombies appeared from the distant stairwell. Calmly, Jamison stepped into the open doorway, checking on Morrow’s position. As he suspected, Morrow was sitting with his back to the wall, his head on his knees.

Turning back to the advancing zombies, Jamison calmly waited until at least a dozen had entered the large maintenance room, all of them spotting him immediately. Quietly, Jamison stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

What was all the racket in there? asked Morrow, lifting his head.

I tripped on some pipes. No big deal, replied Jamison.

Morrow once again lowered his head onto his knees as Jamison waited. After about a minute, the first of the zombies hit the door. Morrow’s head immediately snapped up, a look of fear on his face.

What was that? he exclaimed, as more pounding sounded from the steel barrier.

Jamison stood calmly next to the door, staring at his former boss.

Sorry Morrow, but sacrifices have to be made if I’m going to get out of this alive.

Morrow’s eyes widened, the look of fear turning to one of sheer terror as he watched his former lead henchman. Calmly, Jamison reached out and opened the door, pinning himself between the door and the wall, out of view of the ravenous undead.

NO! screamed Morrow as he rose to his feet. Noooooo!

Instantly the zombies advanced on the panicked man, their moans increasing at the sight of human flesh.

Morrow, now bordering on hysterics, ran along the wall, looking for an escape. Reaching the eastern edge, he scrambled onto a satellite dish and onto an elevated section of the roof that formed a square corner of the building. Behind him, more than 20 zombies had now made their way onto the roof and were following quickly. Racing to the far edge of the new roof section, Morrow desperately searched for an escape as the zombie horde closed in on him.

Jamison, meanwhile, stood motionless in his hiding place as dozens of undead poured onto the roof in pursuit of Morrow. He held his breath as the hideous creatures staggered through the door just inches away, their foul stench burning his nostrils. The smell made him want to vomit, but he held fast, praying that none took notice of him. He listened as Morrow screamed and ran for his life, but he knew there was nowhere to hide. At best, he’d be able to escape to the elevated sections of the roof, but he’d still be trapped.

After about two minutes, the flood of undead entering the rooftop stopped. In the distance, Jamison could hear Morrow’s pleas for help as he emerged from his hiding spot. Looking across the roof, he could see Morrow perched on the elevated section of roof, his back to the low wall as he looked upon the ghastly horrors that were desperately trying to reach him.

The elevated roof section was just high enough that the zombies couldn’t climb up, leaving Morrow safe for the time being. But he had nowhere to run. The only way out was an eight-story plunge to the sidewalk below, and right now Morrow had to be contemplating that option, considering the alternative.

As Jamison stood there, looking upon the cowering man, he wondered why he ever put up with his bullshit. The man was a weasel, a coward, and the type of person that shouldn’t survive the zombie apocalypse. Now that Jamison knew the secrets of ZOMBIE OFF, he really didn’t need him anymore. All he needed to do was escape the city and make it to the safe house. From there, he could rally the surviving men and begin rebuilding, this time with a proper leader.

Locking eyes with Morrow, Jamison smiled and waved as he turned and headed into the building, closing the door behind him.

Jamison! Don’t leave me! Please! I’m begging you!

His screams fell on dead ears as Jamison made his way