Zombie Spring

By Chris Okusako

SYNOPSIS OF ZOMBIE SPRING: General Cartwright Jones, has been given an impossible task. He is under orders to take his 50,000 man army into LA and clean out the Zombie infection which is due to go airborne in just four days. If he cannot complete his mission on schedule, the President has made it clear he will solve the problem through nuclear depopulation. Arrayed against him are several hundred thousand of the Undead and over ten million southern Californians that may turn at any moment. The Canadian army has crossed our northern borders, three brigades of Mexican Special Forces are headed towards San Diego on our southern border, and the virus has found a toehold in the east. Jones has his hands more than full, but on top of all this, he has another big problem. No general worth his salt attacks an enemy head-on while forgetting his backside, but he needs every veteran combat troop he has for the vanguard. All there is left to man his rearguard are the band, the company of dramatic actors, an infantry second lieutenant on his first day of active service, his cowboy friend, an attractive science officer, and a bunch of UCLA coeds. This then, is the tale of two mammoth battles waged on two fronts: I-Corps Battle for LA and the Battle for Joyous Gard, the castle like fortification built by the rearguard to protect the general and the Army of the West. PROFILER: To help people decide whether or not they might enjoy my series, I try to profile interested readers and steer away those who might be better off looking elsewhere. The Zombie Spring Series is a Zombie Lite version of the Zombie genre. Yes, it has plenty of gore and huge battles, but much of what I write is meant to be humorous. Mine is not a dour world-view of what would happen. The content is centered around happy, upbeat young people, who think they can win against all odds and maybe make a better life for themselves. If you like happy stories with a little romance interspersed with lots of military blood and guts, then you’re in the right place. So who might not enjoy this book? Fans of the movie: The Road or the Walking Dead might consider looking elsewhere for their entertainment. If you liked Warm Bodies, Zombieland with Woody Harrelson, or Abraham Lincoln vs. the Zombies then you are more likely to have a nice evening pouring through these pages. Bruce Campbell could be a character in my book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Okusako
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476243078

Chris Okusako

I enjoyed writing the Zombie Spring Series, although I found the experience very difficult. For a guy like myself, 400,000 words is probably more words than I speak in several years, and maybe that’s why these books took three years to finish. I guess I can’t write any faster than I speak!Why did I write a Zombie series?I wrote a Zombie book as my first because they make a great enemy and they're just plain scary. Most of the Undead books I have read were great, right up until the ending! Why is that? Because many authors tend to kill off all of their loveable characters in horrible ways. So I wrote this series with a different intent. Most of my heroes and heroines survive, and you readers out there will feel more like laughing and cheering at the end than taking a cup of hemlock at bedtime. My main characters are wholesome types that people can look up to. Foul language and characters with emotional baggage must find homes in other people's books. Dogs are not allowed to die. (LOL)But why did I feel the need to write at all?The reason is, the characters in my books are all family members. It's my way of leaving my children and grand children an heirloom that they will want to read now and through the years. I call my books Heirloom Books, and some day after I'm long gone, I expect my great great grandchildren to ask their dads and moms, "Did you and great great grandpa and grandma really fight Zombies?"How cool is that?The other reason I chose to write was that I wanted to bring a little joy into people's lives. I firmly believe that if a person can do something that brings some cheer into the lives of other people, then he should. We're only here for so long, and it's nice to give back to all the people that have had to put up with us for all these years.The series, after Zombie Spring's Roland Thomas Type IV, will probably not continue. The reviews over at Amazon have been very good, and I love the fan mail, but a number of factors may send me into early retirement. First, I will be a grandfather for the second time, this March 2014. My family and the new little ones need me more than I could ever imagine. Only grandpa can change the diapers it seems, and it's hard to write between changings! Secondly, writing is not a very healthy hobby unless you can force yourself to leave the keyboard now and then to exercise and eat properly. I didn't, and I was rewarded with a small stroke. So my doctor and I view authoring with a small amount of trepidation now. Better I should be fixated on golf than typing, although far more dangerous for other golfers. Lastly, I really need to learn to type with more than two fingers.My hobbies are golf, historical fiction, westerns, shooting, opera, first person computer games, baseball card collecting, riding motorcycles, and I played ball for 20 years. My favorite authors are: Zane Grey, Louis L’Anour, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Doc EE Smith, Bernard Cornwell, and Sam Barone. My favorite saying: A teacher is like a candle, consuming himself to light the way for others (straight from Leave it to Beaver). I retired as a 4th grade teacher, by the way.I reply to all email and am thankful for reviews... good ones that is. My email address is: [e-mail]

Book preview

Zombie

Spring

Revision 3

05/14/15

Captain Chris Okusako

Zombie Spring

Copyright 2012 by Chris Okusako

Smashwords Edition

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 person. 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 novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are products of my imagination or are used fictitiously. Resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Resemblance to actual events and places is wholly coincidental.

.Other Books in the Zombie Spring Series

.

DEDICATION

To my loving father, mother, and brother who taught me

Everything and paved the road for my future endeavors.

My wife Cindy, who stands beside me in all things and

Provides me with her unconditional love, and my children and

Their husbands who have made me proud and joyful.

Cindy’s family who blessed our marriage and the children

That sprang from it,

And my father-in law who relies on me and makes me feel needed.

Lastly, to my grandson Wyatt and my granddaughter

Aria.

May your hearts be full of joy all the rest of your lives.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Chapter I - The Beginning

Chapter II - The Briefing

Chapter III - Chris and Buck Go to War

Chapter IV - Under Siege

One Hour Ago

Chapter V - PAX on the Fourth Floor

Chapter VI - The Face of the Enemy or Chris and Buck… The Arrival

Chapter VII - Bombs Away

Chapter VIII - The Big Stretch or Coed Commandoes

Chapter IX - Prelude or Ask and You Shall Receive

Chapter X - The Zoo

Chapter XI - The Fortress at Joyous Gard

Chapter XII - First Blood LA

Chapter XIII - The Big Bang

From the Diary of Sergeant Dennis Fitz

Chapter XIV - Saga: The Song of Roland

At Firebase Indio

To Be or Not to Be

Chapter XV - I-Corps is Coming

Chapter XVI - The War of 1812 REDUX

Chapter XVII - The Deguello

Chapter XVIII - Oh Say Can You See?

Chapter XIX - The Sergeant Major Arrives

0130 Hours

Chapter XX - The Joyous Gard Address

Chapter XXI - March or Die… or These Boots were Made for Walking

To Hell and Back

Happy Jack’s Last Stand

Chapter XXII - Thermopylae II or the Longest Day

Interview with PFC Eric Wing

Chapter XXIII - The Shinpuu Incident On Hill 503

Chapter XXIV - Aftermath or For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

Chapter XXV - Shinpunzle Vs. The Zombies

Chapter XXVI - About the Author

ZOMBIE SPRING

Chapter I

Afternoon of February 27, 2019

Guangzhou Mainland China

The Beginning

"I’m in Hell… this is just a nightmare… but it hurts! It hurts so much! Wake up, Richard…WAKE UP! Major Collins choked back a cry. His cheek stung, it throbbed, it felt raw and on fire from a stinging blow that snapped his face to the side. Blinding white light flared from behind his closed eyelids. Drops of blood and spittle flew from contorted lips; his mind struggled with, What the…?" And then a second blow wiped the slate clean and whipped his face in the opposite direction.

Through a deep, dark fog, his reeling, spiraling mind began to regain a modicum of awareness. Richard’s breathing became stronger and deeper. Sensations began to coalesce into fragmented perceptions. Pain, terror, rage… someone was violently and methodically slapping his face, and the thought "why" began to materialize in his troubled consciousness.

The Major’s eyes flickered open, wandered drunkenly, and slowly began to focus on Lieutenant Cynthia Christopherson. She was on her knees screaming something at him. Her eyes were wild, she looked desperate, and she was rearing back to launch another series of wicked blows. His mouth worked from side to side; he swallowed. Wait! he tried to say, but the words would not come.

Just off to her side was Sergeant Claire Kincaid. Claire! For a moment, Richard was spellbound, his body relaxed and a warmth of feeling steeled over him. Their eyes met and a ghost of a smile almost formed on his lips when a flashing hand clipped him hard on the side of his cheek.

That last blow did it. Richard’s hand leaped up and caught firm hold of Cindy’s wrist before her next descending blow could gain momentum.

He gasped out, Are you crazy? Stop it! That’s an order, Lieutenant! But he could not hear his own voice, let alone hers. All he could hear was a strident ringing inside his head that added substantively to the absolute madness surrounding him.

Collins lay in the crumbling ruins of the Guangzhou International airport terminal, once a showcase of China’s growing economic might and now a scene of utter devastation. Across from him he saw a long, blackened, shell-pocked wall barely able to support the jagged crazed remains of the terminal’s enormous panoramic windows and sagging roof. Looking beyond the shattered portals, towering black columns of sooty smoke stretched heavenward from a firestorm that threatened to consume the city.

Waves of MIG fighter-bombers screamed overhead dropping their payloads of napalm and high explosive bombs on Guangzhou’s doomed thirteen million. Like swarms of angry bees, helicopter gunships crisscrossed the sky; rocket pods gushed flames while streams of tracer rounds obliterated targets below.

Major Collins’ practiced eye saw explosions that could only be shell bursts and that meant artillery. This huge city and its people were ringed in, and everyone was being put to the sword.

His eyes tracked inwards to the vast cavernous interior of the airport terminal, and what he saw was utter bloody chaos. Astonishing numbers of trampled and shrapnel riddled bodies lay sprawled about the floor in various attitudes reflective of violent and terrible death. From his position lying on the polished tile floor, he could see fresh blood pooling and spreading towards him like an unchecked wave. And everywhere he looked, he saw people in the throes of mass hysteria or in the deepest depths of despair.

Then Richard’s hearing came roaring back, and he fervently wished that it hadn’t. Gunshots, bomb blasts, rattling windows, whining turbine engines, screaming, the moaning of the wounded, the moaning of the… the…, and the major began to curl up into a fetal ball, but before he could draw his legs into his chest, the ground heaved and violently threw him into the air.

Fifty yards away, thousands of jagged holes appeared like magic in the walls of the terminal. Hundreds of panicky people were swept off their feet and reduced to quivering piles of raw meat. The air misted red, and spray patterns shot across the walls and seemed to infuse the very air they were breathing. Then the concussive fury of the exploding five hundred pound bomb hammered the weakened wall and turned a sixty-foot section of steel, concrete, and glass into a pulverizing cloud of death.

Instead of standing like graven statues, both women should have flung themselves on the ground immediately. The Major’s heart sank. In the split second that he had to choose, he knew that there was only going to be time to save one of the women. The other would die.

Major Collins understood the danger and the choices to be made, and he moved at the speed of thought. He lunged for Cindy’s wrist and lashed out with his feet. The lieutenant’s legs were swept from beneath her just as the lighter particles of glass and steel filled the air over their heads. Following close behind came billowing clouds of cement dust, deadly chunks of concrete laced with rebar, and red hot shrapnel.

The major rolled over and covered the dazed lieutenant’s body with his own. Through the shrieking maelstrom, they both heard Claire’s heartrending cry.

"RICHARD…" A beseeching hand reached out to her beloved through the storm of debris, and then she vanished. It was as if she had never been.

Fine powdery cement dust began to settle before Richard cautiously raised his head and heaved himself into a kneeling position. By the time Cindy had risen to her feet, Collins was already searching the rubble through an atmosphere just clear enough for them to distinguish shapes.

She ran after him screaming, Claire! Claire! In a voice that was nearly a sob.

Though the battle raged unabated, neither soldier gave the danger a moment’s thought. The only thing that mattered to either of them was finding Claire alive, for she was best friend to one and betrothed to the other.

The major’s sweeping gaze stopped. His eyes widened with recognition, and then his face fell in pained silence. When Cindy saw the expression on Collin’s face, she knew the truth. The strength in the lieutenant’s legs left her, tears ran down her cheeks, and she plopped down on the rubble.

Against a wall in an awful broken heap lay the remains of Sergeant Kincaid. There was no need to check on the sergeant’s condition. No one could survive the kinds of wounds she bore, not for a second. Only her face was unmarked. Her eyes were open and peaceful.

"Why? cried Lt. Christopherson. Tears rolled down her dusty cheeks. You two were in love. Why did you save me and not her?"

Fighting to retain control of his seething emotions he ground out, "I saved you, Doctor… Lieutenant, because you are the only one here that is not expendable. What you know may save the United States from total devastation. Weigh that against my pitiful love for Claire. Now get up, Lieutenant: on your feet! We have to leave. I remember now. I remember everything."

And I remember that my time is running out. You’ve got to hurry, old boy, thought Collins with bitterness.

Major Collins understood what was at stake. Cindy must escape, and he would let nothing stand in the way of his mission. As they made their way across the terminal, he grimly stiff-armed his way through the shell-shocked crowds, hammered to the ground anyone who fought back with his mallet like fists, and flung people left and right like rag dolls. There was no time for niceties: no time for a, Pretty please? What happened in the next few minutes would mean life or death for hundreds of millions.

He plowed ahead, dragging Cindy by the arm. Half the time they trod on the bodies of the wounded and dying and splashed through pools of blood. Just ahead of them was one of many man-sized holes in the wall that faced the runway. Major Collins realized some time ago, that the only way out of Guangzhou was by jet. How to get one was the problem.

One step at a time, he thought.

When they finally fought their way through to the ruined wall, Collins thrust his head outside and took a gander at the runway. For the first time in a long while, he felt his heart soar. His eyes widened at what he saw, and his heart began to pound in his chest.

His hand swept up and pointed outside to a small jet aircraft guarded by two restless soldiers. Now ain’t that something? he exclaimed. A little ray of sunshine in hell.

Collins seemed to weigh something in his mind. He cast a quick glance at Cindy and gave her an appraising look. He took her by the shoulder and pointed at the aircraft.

That’s where we’re going, and that’s how you’re getting out of here. It was said as a statement of fact.

Impossible! That jet belongs to the Communist Party’s seventh highest ranked member, Li Keqiang. Those men out there are elite Red Guards chosen to protect him at the cost of their lives. They will never let us have it! burst out Cindy. And why did you say ‘you’ and not ‘we’?

"We’re not going to ask them if we can have it!" rasped the major. "We’re going to take it because we must have it! I know from studying your personnel records that you can fly a plane, Cindy."

Collins glanced down at the dead bodies surrounding them and noticed that many of them were beginning to twitch in an alarming manner. Outside the building, there was an all-pervasive moaning sound drawing nearer. The real enemy was closing in; it was time to go.

One last duty to perform. This time, no one got in the big man’s way.

Major Collins jogged the short distance to Claire’s body and knelt down. His rough soldier’s hands now gentle and loving, squeezed her ruined shoulder and held her head close to his chest.

I’m so sorry honey. He paused for just a moment while he caressed her hair with his cheek, We shall meet again. My promise, darling.

In a fluid, graceful motion he rose up, drew his pistol, and shot her through the head. Now run! he gasped out to Cindy.

.

Cindy thought she had never run so hard in her life, but Richard ruthlessly drove her on. "Come on, girl, DIG! DIG!" he roared at her.

As they neared the plane, the edgy guards alertly raised their weapons. The metallic sound of a bolt sliding home on a receiver indicated that one soldier had disengaged the safety on his AK-72. A universal hand gesture to halt was followed by a shouted warning in Chinese.

Major Richard Collins was in a deadly dilemma. The aircraft must be taken at the risk of his life, but a pistol against two assault rifles was near suicide. He needed a diversion, anything to give him an edge. As fortune would have it, he got his miracle.

An entire wing of the weakened air terminal collapsed with a mighty crash. A passenger plane next to it exploded sending jets of flame hundreds of feet into the air. At the same time, Collins pointed wildly at a large mob of shambling Chinese coming their way.

"Zombies!" he yelled, and almost as if on cue, the flaming, twisted tail section of the jumbo jet came crashing to earth not fifty yards away.

For the sentries, it must have seemed as if the whole world was coming to an end. Almost bereft of their senses, the guards’ weapons sagged. They gaped at the fury of the seething destruction, winced at the secondary explosions, and cringed at the alarming approach of thousands of the Living Dead.

"Jiangshi! Jinagshi!" cried Cindy, referencing the Legendary Chinese hopping Zombies from the Qing Dynasty. Would they know the name, she wondered?

Please, God, yes! She hoped.

One soldier’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He placed a trembling hand to his cheek and began to jabber at the other with prodigious energy and urgency. He gestured wildly with his free hand, and then he pointed to an area of relative safety at the far end of the runway. This man wanted to flee.

The other guard was made of sterner stuff, and although his hands were shaking with fear he yelped, "Bu neng! Bu neng zou!" and then something in Chinese about Li Keqiang. He seemed determined that neither of them would dessert his post. To emphasize his resolve, he raised his weapon and aimed the muzzle at his companion’s chest. A sinister Kachak! sound indicated that the weapon’s safety had been released.

The soldiers’ faces were frozen masks of fear and uncertainty, and Collins chose that crucial moment to whip out his concealed Beretta and kill them both. The steadfast guard took a slug through the neck and began to pirouette in a grotesque dance of death. His life’s blood sprayed high into the air and flecked his companion’s face crimson.

The second man wasted a precious split second to spit blood and hurl an awful curse before training his weapon on the American. The magnificent Collins, fired three more times in the space of a heartbeat and dropped his man flat on his back. The three smoking holes in his chest would have fit inside a playing card.

The major dragged the twitching bodies away from the landing gear, all the time aware of the approaching danger. Then he rushed back and grabbed the fading science officer by the shoulder and snarled, "Snap out of it! Wake up, damn it!"

He jabbed at the plane with his finger, You are to get in that plane and start the engines up. Under no circumstances will you open the door, not even for me. That is an order! Once you get up in the air, your best bet is Taiwan across the Formosa Strait.

Then he forced the struggling, spluttering, and tongue-tied Cindy through the fuselage hatch. As she turned to face him, he ground out fiercely, "To any senior grade military officer you meet, you say ‘twilight of the gods’ and my name. REPEAT!"

Twilight of the gods and your name, but…?

He reached out and put tender hands on both her cheeks. His eyes were unfathomable. Goodbye young lady, and may the Lord give you wings.

He shoved her backwards and slammed the hatch shut. The door clicked with a sound that spoke of finality.

Richard picked up one of the AK’s and positioned himself between the small private jet and the approaching Zombies. The major was under no illusions. One way or another he was going to die, but he would sell his life dearly. His death would make a difference to those back home, and that thought lent him comfort in his final minutes.

The jet engines screamed to life, and over their roar, Cindy could hear the sound of firing outside. She opened the window and tried to scream out a warning over the sound of the engines.

Come on, let’s go! Get in the plane, Richard!

Major Collin’s face was a mask of agony and maybe something else, sorrow perhaps. His powerful voice rose over the sound of the engines.

This is as far as I go, Cindy, but wherever you should find yourself, Claire and I will be with you in spirit. He yanked down his bloody sleeve to reveal an ugly wound with black radiating lines.

Infected! Cindy’s practiced eyes quickly took stock of the man, and she noted with grief that his sparkling brown eyes were paling over. As a human being, Major Richard Collins had seconds, maybe minutes remaining. It was a miracle that he had lasted this long.

Cindy raised her hand in salute. God love you and keep you. It’s been an honor to serve under you, Major.

The small aircraft swung around on a dime. She increased the throttle and made her way to the nearest runway, where a huge battle of containment was ensuing between escaping aircraft and the gunships and fighter jets of the PRC. Flaming wreckage dotted the tarmac, and planes fell out of the sky like wounded birds to explode and cloud the air with black smoke and debris. It was into this, this miasma of battle, that Lieutenant Christopherson weaved and guided Li Keqiang’s small jet, until she found a length of runway suitable for takeoff.

One last look at her instrument gauges and she threw the throttle to maximum thrust. In her pocket she carried a vaccine, and in her head, the vital information that might save a nation.

Chapter 2

Morning of March 3rd

Four Days Later

White House Oval Office

The Briefing

The atmosphere in the room was somber. Influential men and women from the highest reaches of government sat at their assigned positions around a large oval table. Pencils, pens, and note pads littered the glossy table along with half empty Starbucks coffee cups.

The sun shining through the large tall windows seemed to be the only ray of light in a roomful of dull people. The faces of the participants were all of severe expression. Every head was turned towards the head of the table and locked onto the man sitting on a plush brown leather chair. At the moment, this man was venting his spleen, a condition that had been occurring more and more frequently during the past weeks.

Those that sat at the table watched with a growing sense of unease. They secretly began to wonder if this man, a man known as much for his tempestuous emotional outbursts as his political acumen, had the stability and leadership capabilities to run the most powerful country in the world.

This man, the 46th President of the United States, was furious, and the man holding the lightning rod for the storm of criticism and blame was Bob Prescott, the head of the CIA .

Bob was having a devilishly hard time of it lately, and the problems were not really his fault. A spy agency was reliant at one end, on its agents and informants. At the other end were the data analysts who made sense of the information sent in from the field.

Something was happening out in the field that was leading the analysts to reach outrageous conclusions that Bob either had to squelch or surrender to the decision makers higher up the chain. That was only one of his problems. The other big problem was that most recently, there was a great disruption in the flow of information.

Other than in the Americas, the whole world seemed to be teetering on some sort of alarming brink. The information he was receiving to sort it all out was both sparse and incomprehensible, especially from Asia. Therefore, the conclusions he passed on to the President were both inadequate and idiotic. So with bowed head and submissive demeanor, he stood on the plush carpet while chief of staff Gordon Whitney began an intervention on his behalf.

Mr. President, I can assure you that collectively, we have everything under control. Everything is being done that can be done.

The President flailed his fists above his head. "Wait a minute, you’re not telling me anything really. What exactly is being done, and what is under control? DETAILS! I want a detailed account, Gordon."

Although we are still in the dark as to exactly what is going on in Asia, politically, sir, we think we can blame our colleagues on the other side of the aisle for any disaster that might arise. Our team of political consultants is supremely confident that they can handle the spin on anything short of an alien invasion. So we need not worry about the electorate and the coming elections in 2020. Militarily, all leaves have been cancelled, and all units of the army, navy, and air force within the borders of the continental United States have been put on red alert. Military units overseas are confined to their bases with no indigenous personnel allowed in. Commanders have been authorized and ordered to fire on any person that tries to force their way onto a military base even while on foreign soil. Internally, the CDC has been alerted to a possible nationwide epidemic of unknown potential or origin. Lieutenant General Cartwright Jones, chief of Western Command, CONUS, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is waiting to be briefed. First Lieutenant Cynthia Christopherson, from Medical Research, has just flown in from Red China and is waiting to brief us on the Chinese situation. You personally are scheduled to give a televised speech to the nation about the increasing worldwide turmoil. Your speech has already been written for you, and the teleprompter has been preprogrammed. FOX News has been barred from the Whitehouse grounds. And… oh yes, you’re scheduled to speak at a $5000 a plate fund raising dinner tonight at the Olympic Club.

The dour faces around the table assumed an expectant look as each man and woman waited to be the first to mirror their boss’ next expression. The President rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, while his hands formed a steeple under his chin.

"Politically I like it, and as you are so fond of saying, there is always political advantage to be gained in a disaster. Mobilizing the military is sound strategy. If at all possible, I want our troops worldwide brought home immediately. The CDC… the CDC will never be ready in time. Look what happened during the last flu epidemic. Regarding FOX news, you better let them participate. We must give the impression of fairness, but make sure you seat Bernard Wilson in the back row on the hard seats. I am very pleased with what you have done on such short notice, Gordon. I especially like the part about blaming our political opponents. Spread the blame around and spread it thick; it’ll stick to somebody. It always does."

Ummm, sir, what shall we do about Hollywood? chimed in Vice President Jay Stockholm with ill concealed levity.

"Hollywood! Hollywood? the President gave the merest glimpse of confusion before nodding his head slowly in sage agreement. Uh huh, you have an excellent point there. Then more carefully he asked, Refresh my memory."

The mask of humor fell away and Jay replied with, Why sir, they are your most dangerous opponents. People are taking their comedians seriously and their President as a joke!

Jay was up to speed on his Will Rodgers’ quotes.

Around the table there were insincere smiles, chuckles, and a few honest glares. The vice president was still getting even for the nasty, malicious lies the President said about him in the 2016 primaries. Yes, Jay might have to serve under this man, but he didn’t have to like him.

The President was not immune to a good joke, just never at his expense… ever. He made an effort to feign a smile but could not hold it.

Why is it Jay, that in a room full of bright light, your cumulative presence adds but a spark?

Transferring his moody gaze to the chief of his staff he said, You do good work, Gordo.

Gordon frowned but offered in return, Thank you, Mr. President. I try to do my best. As the old cowboys used to say, ‘I ride for the brand’.

"Ummm yas, yas, what does Secretary of State Henrietta Stanton have to say about the China situation? She’s over there right now, and she did say she would stay in close contact with us, did she not?" asked the President in his most petulant voice.

Mr. President, I may be able to answer that question better than your Chief of Staff. As CIA chief, I am better informed than most on the current world situation, offered Bob.

The steepled hands suddenly slapped down hard on the arms of the chair. Not that I’ve seen so far! groused the President, But go on, Bob. Make your report, if you please.

Well sir, Henrietta was in China when whatever happened, happened, and the last we heard before she was cut off was that she was being attacked by crazed maniacs. This statement our analysts took with a grain of salt because… well, we all know what she’s like when she gets excited. In the room there was a general nodding of heads and a few smiles. "Since then, unbelievable as it may seem, there has only been silence from her end. So from a political and military standpoint, we have no transparency. The CIA does, of course, have paid Chinese informants in high value positions, but the reports being leaked out are few and too incredulous to be true. Four days ago, China imposed a news and communications blackout from the Yellow Sea in the east all the way to Tajikistan in the west. Shall I continue?"

Bob fervently hoped that he was through for the day because anything he said from here on out would earn him another slap down from the big man himself. His stomach made a loud squeal which earned him a glare.

The President nervously drummed his fingers on his desk, pinched up his face and said, No, wait on the medical officer’s report, and see if what she says is in concurrence with your agents’ submissions. Bob, please ask the lieutenant to present herself. Have the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces seated as well. Damn it, I need to know what’s going on. The whole of Asia seems to be sliding into hell on a greased rail, and I want to know why.

The big doors swung silently open on their well-oiled hinges, and Lieutenant Cindy Christopherson, all five foot four of her, entered the semi-darkened room. She was clearly nervous. The Director of the CIA took her by the elbow and whisked her across the rich carpets to a hastily set up podium.

Just relax, he whispered. You’ll do just fine.

Let’s get on with it, urged the President. He leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head before directly addressing her.

I understand you were in China during the recent uprisings. You were among fifty researchers and military observers sent to Guangzhou, and you alone have returned. As the only survivor of the medical team sent to study Chinese advances in cellular mutation, tell us briefly and concisely what you saw most recently and in regard to the current Chinese situation. Tell it to us in laymen’s terms if you will.

Up until this paralyzing moment, the largest groups Cindy had ever spoken to were small teams of friendly fellow lab researchers working on infectious diseases. This dark room with so many glaring, hostile, or smirking faces made her knees tremble. Everyone seemed to be trying to drill holes through her with their eyes.

Cindy gulped rather loudly and began, I regret that I was not rescued and brought here sooner. I’m even more sorry that communications networks between China and the United States have been totally disrupted because I urgently needed to debrief at the highest level. Sir, what we are seeing in China and across Asia is not an uprising so to speak. It is very likely the beginning of the end for all mankind.

Somebody snorted very loudly in disbelief. There was a shuffling of feet, the sound of hands slapping the table, and a low muttering that grew in strength until the President rapped his knuckles on the table.

He cocked his head sideways and asked, Explain that last sentence. Did I hear you right? The beginning of the end? He sounded so condescending that soon everybody was either tittering or smiling. The exception was Bob. He looked stunned.

Please take me seriously, Mr. President, pleaded Lt. Christopherson. We are on the verge of a world catastrophe that may doom us all, right down to the last man, woman, and child.

Cindy’s impassioned speech garnered everyone’s full attention, and this helped give her the confidence to continue. She realized how vital was her information. The country’s survival was at stake, and she needed these doubting politicians to hear her story and take immediate action upon her recommendations. Speed was of the essence.

The Chinese, she continued, have been working for decades on genetic engineering with a bent toward its military applications. You see, up until recently the Reds had no hope of beating us on the technological battlefield. Their biggest asset lay in their massive manpower and the ability to absorb horrendous losses while continuing to engage the enemy. Towards that end, the Chinese military has been trying to create the perfect soldier: a self-regenerating hunter-killer immune to all but the most lethal of wounds.

General Jones, offered the President, I can hear you huffing and puffing like a steam engine all the way over here. You wish to say something that will add to this conversation?

Yes, I do. I don’t know where the lieutenant is going with her report, but this is foolishness if she thinks the perfect soldier will lead to the destruction of the world. I agree that up to a certain point you might be able to create a better fighting man, but the fact remains that a better man still falls when a bullet hits him. And if we ever do fight the Chinese, we’ll be throwing a hailstorm of bullets, bombs, and missiles at them. They may make a million better men, but in the end they’ll still be lying on the ground with their toes turned up.

What a quaint way to state your conclusion, General. Please continue Lieutenant, added the President.

But General, said Lt. Christopherson, what if those million men don’t fall over dead when they are shot? What if they are the Living Dead to begin with? Just think, an army of the dead marching forward on orders from Beijing.

The room erupted into an uproar, and Cynthia was forced to raise her voice. "This was what they were working on, using convicts sentenced to death as guinea pigs. Well, something went very wrong. Literally, hundreds and hundreds of subjects died from essentially three kinds of experimental injections. Then in typical Chinese fashion, these dead were not cremated, but instead they were buried in shallow mass graves twenty miles outside the port city of Guangzhou. Essentially, they were left to serve as nutrients for the soil. The trouble is, the first generation of dead did not cooperate. Instead they reanimated. They dug their way out from under the earth and headed off in all directions. Among the places they visited, were the nearest port cities, and along the way, the Living were attacked and either consumed or infected by these Zombies, of which there are three known strains."

Slack jaws and silence in the room preceded the President’s next query. "You said ‘eaten’? Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, Mr. President. Some victims were consumed right down to the bone. There were fifty of us in my unit, and we were picked off one by one as either killed and devoured or infected. Those of us who were infected, eventually morphed into a Living Dead.

"The survivors of our team were chased across the city streets by hoards of Infecteds, until a handful of us made a final stand at Guangzhou International Airport. It was there that my commanding officer was able to secure the Chinese Vice Premier’s Maverick Solo jet for my personal use. Using this aircraft, I escaped through a ‘no-fly zone’ and out to sea.

Unfortunately, the Maverick sustained serious flak damage from PRC coastal batteries and was leaking fuel. I broadcast a general SOS and ditched the failing aircraft into the Formosa Strait, where I was rescued by the USS Antietam: a guided missile cruiser patrolling international waters near Taiwan. Once on board, I was able to convince a somewhat skeptical Captain Shannon that I had information of vital importance to national security. In the privacy of his quarters, I recited the code words ‘Twilight of the gods, Major Richard Collins.’ He in turn lent me the full resources of his ship and arranged for my immediate stateside disposition to Washington DC.

Only breathing and the ticking of the clock could be heard. Everyone sat in silence digesting this truly incredible information. Brows furrowed and faces pinched up with the effort of trying to imagine the unimaginable: to get past skepticism. But whatever progress was being made, ended abruptly and without warning when Vice President Jay Stockholm hammered his fist loudly against the tabletop, and nearly upset all of the people seated around it.

He shouted, This is sheer and utter nonsense! You’re talking Zombies in the 21st century… HELL, any century! This story of yours is fantastic. It’s absurd. It’s insanity! Do you think I’m stupid?

Cindy had been raised at home and before the cross to be honest. Even so, she probably wouldn’t have responded the way she did if she hadn’t been so taken aback by the VP’s rancor.

She drawled out, W..e..l..l, not entirely stupid… The room broke into another uproar of anger, laughter, and finger pointing.

All right, all right, children, scolded the President. "Let’s wrap this up then because I think we’re going to be very busy and soon. You haven’t told us everything yet, so drop the other shoe. Summarize what we must expect, and then later tomorrow you can flesh it out for us."

"Yes, Mr. President. In short, the Zombies, also known as IED’s or Infecteds, will attack, kill, and eat any warm-blooded animals they can lay their hands on. People who are not eaten but are bitten or scratched will, depending upon where they were bitten, turn into a Living Dead sometime between minutes and a day after being infected. They in turn will continue to spread the disease."

Wait a moment, said the President. "I am aware that an IED is a military acronym for an improvised explosive device. How is it you are referring to the Living Dead as IED’s?"

"Before Major Collins was killed, he christened the Infecteds with that name. He thought that the word Zombies was too Hollywoodish. IED stands for Infected and Essentially Dead."

Bob broke into the conversation. How did Major Collins die? I knew the man quite well, and we were good friends. He was a distinguished military man, but he was also one of our finest CIA agents, a fact that you probably were not aware of.

Cindy paused for a moment. She thought back to her horrible odyssey through the streets of Guangzhou.

With her emotions barely held in check she said, "He died at the airport fighting off the Zombies so that I could escape. He was willing to sacrifice himself because he believed that my testimony might save the lives of millions of Americans.

"When last I saw him, I was idling the jet engines. I yelled at him to get on board.

He was on the tarmac shooting down IED’s with a Kalashnikov. I did not know it at the time, but he had been infected early on during our escape attempt. He showed me the wounds on his arm and ordered me away. Before I completed my turn to head down the runway, I saw him drop his rifle and look at me with terrible milky white eyes. I think that at that very moment, he knew that he had been deprived of his humanity.

Ghastly! Just awful! cried Bob.

Please continue, exhorted the President.

The boys in military intelligence say that as of yesterday, it is likely that there are twenty or thirty million Chinese IED’s with more joining their ranks exponentially. Not only are the Infecteds or Zombies highly contagious, they can only be killed by a catastrophic injury to the central nervous system.

My God, if true, this is incredible! yelped the Secretary of Defense.

What are we to do then? asked the Secretary of the Interior.

The President flicked his glance from one to the other. First of all, verification. Bob, does the good lieutenant’s statements gibe with what your agents in China are saying?

Confirmed Mr. President, and further more…

Suddenly a Deputy Director of the CIA rushed up and whispered in Bob’s ear. After a moment of silence, the director announced with almost theatrical gravity, The PRC has just dropped nuclear warheads on Guangzhou and Shenzhen. Fighting has broken out in Beijing itself. Satellite images show the whole country to be in grievous turmoil.

Gasps of surprise and consternation followed this announcement. Every eye gravitated to the fidgeting, uncertain man at the head of the table.

For… for… for the time being, we will do nothing in regards to China except to offer them assistance… from the air, warbled the President. He slowly clenched and unclenched his hands before he assumed a commanding tone.

After all, this is a China problem, and I intend that it should stay that way. We will hunker down here and try to brave the storm with the Pacific Ocean as our first line of defense.

Uh, Mr. President, interrupted the lieutenant, "I wasn’t finished yet. There are several more things you MUST know. These are the other shoes you were asking for, for this is a many legged monster."

With a look of exasperation on his face, the President collapsed back into his seat and threw up his hands. You are the bearer of bad news, aren’t you?

Cindy Looked down at her wiggling toes and somehow gained strength from them. Mr. President, the Zombies first appeared at the port city of Guangzhou. Many people were infected, and many people who were infected fled the city by boat and by jet. At my urgent request, I had Intelligence on board the USS Antietam use satellite photos to identify ships and planes leaving the Chinese harbors and airports all along the China Sea. The bad news is that hundreds of boats or ships escaped the mainland, and of these refugee crafts, we have solid intelligence that at least some docked in Japan, Australia, and fourteen other countries. This very morning, an experimental Chinese navy nuclear powered hydrofoil cruiser slammed into the docks at……..LA.

Pandemonium broke out in the Oval Office, and Cindy could barely be heard. Also a Chinese refugee airbus was headed toward Toronto, Canada, and should have landed there by now with survivors on board. We suspect and expect IED’s on board all escaping vessels and aircraft.

Everyone started yammering at once. The President yanked off his shoe like Cold War Russian leader, Premier Kruschev once did at he United Nations, and forcefully hammered the table with its heel.

"Silence! Fools! Shut the hell up and pay attention. Finish it, Lieutenant. What else?" demanded the President.

Approximately four days after the initial spread of the infection, a plague will follow. This plague, which is an airborne plague, will infect seven out of every ten people that come in contact with it, including 100% of all of those already dead. Of those seven, six will die and reanimate as an IED. I brought a sample vaccine with me that Major Collins appropriated. It is a very simple compound that can be taken orally in the form of a pill. In two days, our many pharmaceutical companies can produce enough serum to inoculate every man and woman in the armed forces CONUS. In three or four days we can manufacture enough for the whole country. Only the distribution of the vaccines will be difficult. That was one of the problems the Chinese had: too many people, not enough pill manufacturers, and a poor distribution system.

Lt. Christopherson, you are dismissed, leave a…

But sir, there is much, much more, and…

"I think you’ve said enough for now. Leave a copy of all your notes, and wait outside at the pleasure of General Jones. You are assigned to his command as medical advisor to him and the White House. Mr. CIA director, get on the horn and find out what’s happening in LA and Toronto. Do it now and report back as soon as you can. General Jones, contact your aides and have them cancel leaves for all military personal in Western Command. Mr. Secretary of Defense, get on the phone to central and eastern commands, put them on full alert, and have them start moving in force toward the Canadian border. Get Air Defense Command on the alert and order them to intercept all aircraft coming in from the Far East or anywhere for that matter. Order them away and if they refuse, you are green lighted to shoot them down in international waters if need be. No more flights are to land on American soil. Jay, you contact the Coast Guard and have them interdict all foreign shipping and keep them in international waters. Use deadly force if necessary. Gordy, contact whomever you have to and close down all international flights out of the United States. Jay… Jay, I want you to contact the major pharmaceuticals, and I want them producing pills by this evening. Put a gun to their heads if you have to. Everyone else get out, do your jobs, and report back here in three hours. General Jones, you stay. Everyone else, OUT!!!"

General Jones gazed at the backs of the departing cabinet members before he rounded on his Commander-in-Chief. The tough grizzled veteran gave the President the squinty eye. He knew he needed to exercise extreme caution with this mercurial politician.

A note warning flashed in his mind. Now I’m in for it.

What do you want to see me about, sir? Shouldn’t I be getting back to my command? From what I understand, every minute counts.

The President grabbed Jones firmly by the arm and led him to the spacious windows overlooking the beautiful rose gardens. As they stared out he purred, We are having this meeting in private because I am about to give you special orders that will be just between you and me. There will be no written orders to paper trail their way back to the White House, except the ones I will keep in the White House safe.

General Jones was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He quipped, Protecting your political rear end I see, but what about mine?

Yes, what about mine? he thought. If his private plans go south on me, I’m the sacrificial offering. He’s using me, damn it!

Candidly speaking, your substantial buttocks won’t need protecting because if you fail, you’ll be feeding the crows on the field of battle. In other words, you’ll be beyond caring.

And I can still survive the political fallout, mused the President.

Oh that’s very comforting, thought Jones out loud. If I fail then you’re going to say I did something stupid on my own initiative, and if I succeed, you’ll show those orders, take credit, and be reelected in 2020. Damn smart.

Oh how I hate slick politicians!

The President overlooked the pointed and critical remarks and slowly articulated, These are your private orders, and you will commit them to memory. Gather your command at whatever place you choose, roll into the LA area and use whatever methods necessary to eradicate or contain the contagion. You have emergency powers to do whatever needs to be done including the total annihilation of entire cities and populations. In other words, if you have to kill ten million people to save two million, do so. You understand me? Get the job done, and I am giving you a free hand in this matter.

Sir, temporized Jones. "I think this is a terrible mistake. I can scrape together roughly 50,000 combat troops in three divisions, four battalions of M1 Abrahms tanks at Fort Lewis, Washington, that can’t get here in time, and a couple squadrons of Bradley Fighting Vehicles training out on the Barstow salt flats. None of our other assets can arrive in time.

Pitted against me are potentially ten-million residents of LA just by itself. If my troopers and I roll into LA, it’ll be like what happened to the Russians when they invaded Chechnya, only a thousand times worse. My men may very well be faced with a foe over 200 times greater than their own force. Where will we even get the vehicles to carry that much ordnance let alone the troopers who will use it? No, sir, I say we pull the army units back into defensible and well-supplied positions and save the healthy uninfected population outside the infected zone. Then we draw the infected out of LA and destroy them in the open with our weapons of mass destruction. That is the only sensible way.

The President hesitated. He spoke haltingly. "Look, General, there are really only two choices to be made. I can try to eradicate the infection by using nuclear weapons like the Chinese, or I can send you in to do a precision eradication and maybe save some of the population. Confidentially, I