Zombie Fallout 13: The Perfect Betrayal

By Mark Tufo

Mike and his squad launch a rescue for Trip, but nefarious forces have aligned against them. He marshals his team together, but will it be enough?

Etna Station and everything Mike cares about is on the brink of collapse. All will be lost unless Mike can convince his team to heed the crazed warnings of an old friend.

Against all odds, they must make a dangerous journey, leaving all at the mercy of a familiar foe who won’t rest until the world is brought to its knees.

Will the universe regain balance? Or will fate finally be sealed against our heroes? Find out in the pages of what may be the most action-packed chapter of the Zombie Fallout saga thus far.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Tufo
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463488560

Mark Tufo

Mark Tufo was born in Boston Massachusetts. He attended UMASS Amherst where he obtained a BA and later joined the US Marine Corp. He was stationed in Parris Island SC, Twenty Nine Palms CA and Kaneohe Bay Hawaii. After his tour he went into the Human Resources field with a worldwide financial institution and has gone back to college at CTU to complete his masters. He lives in Colorado with his wife, three kids and two English bulldogs. Visit him at marktufo.com for news on his next two installments of the Indian Hill trilogy and his latest book Zombie Fallout

Book preview

PROLOGUE ONE - ERIC

The temptation to hang around in Zombie World was strong. Talbot was a vampire. We could compare notes. He was dealing with humans successfully, but I got the impression my presence would cause…complications. There was also the zombie population problem. I’d be delighted to help out with it, but getting deeply involved didn’t seem a good idea. Talbot certainly didn’t think so. What did he call it? He said taking me back to base would be like taking a fistful of sparklers into a fireworks factory, or something like that. Maybe it’s better if I stay out of it, or at least keep to the edges of it, be involved without being involved involved.

Still, I found an old Nokia brick—excuse me, an old cellular phone—that still worked perfectly. Finding precision tools wasn’t much harder. I opened it up and fiddled with it for a few hours, experimenting. I ruined it, but there were plenty more unused phones to be had. I effectively destroyed half a dozen while I explored their circuitry. Eventually, I figured out how to set it up. Speed-dial the only contact and it triggers a tuned micro-gate. This made a connection to the Diogephone and click! There’s your phone call.

Bronze was nice enough to run me back to Eatonville. I put the phone in a plastic baggie, carved a little shelf in the remains of the wall next to the door, and taped the phone in place under a bit of plastic wrap. I even tied a bright red ribbon around it, partly as a joke, partly to make sure it would be hard to miss.

Now, with that out of the way, what did I need to do?

PROLOGUE TWO

Have I ever told you why I think women get mad a lot?

BT let his head drop a little; he wasn’t looking at me. Is this one of those Talbot insights that will make no sense to anyone not of your crazed blood?

Hear me out.

How much choice in the matter do I have?

Well, we’re in this Hummer, alone, traveling at speed, and I’m driving, so, not much at all.

Then I’m all ears, but only because I have to be, and not because I believe for one second that anything you have to say is going to be worth a shit.

The other night, I had a splinter.

Stop, just stop right there. I want to make sure that we’re starting on the right foot. This splinter you had—it’s not in some weird place, is it?

What? No.

"Don’t look at me like that. I have every reason in the world to be concerned. Two weeks ago I had to take you to the base hospital because, well, you know, you had the issue."

Can we drop that? I wanted to know what it was like.

You wanted to know what it was like to be turgid?

Turgid? Is that what you call a hard-on? You must be a blast in bed.

This isn’t about me! I do not want to talk about your erection issues.

It wasn’t an issue. It just wouldn’t go away.

That’s what happens when you take little blue pills. Where the hell did you get them anyway?

Guy had a drawer full on that last raid we went on.

Is that why your woman was mad? Were you waving that thing around in her face for five hours?

Stop, man, you’re digressing. I have a theory and it has nothing to do with that.

Funny I had to bring you and not Tracy, though.

I sat in sullen silence; that was not my finest moment. After taking the drug, Tracy and I had a very pleasurable night. Upon completion, I was mistakenly under the impression that things, or thing, in this particular instance, would take care of itself. For hours I lay flat on my back waiting for…well, you know what for. Finally, I started to panic and, not wanting to wake my wife, I got out of bed and was pacing around downstairs. I decided I was going to head to the hospital when I was struck with crippling pain. I’d not known such pain could come from an area so generally designed for pleasure. Why I called BT, I don’t know, but I’m still regretting the decision. He came over quickly, picking up on the distress and discomfort in my voice.

You all right?

Hospital, quick. I was bent over.

At that point, there were no questions; he just loaded me up into the Hummer. It wasn’t until he found out why we were there that he began to give me shit.

Are you going to tell me or not? BT finally asked, bringing me out of that distressing thought loop.

Anything to make you shut up about it, I said.

Me? You sure do have a warped way of thinking on things. Just tell me, man, so I don’t have to relive that night over and over.

The splinter, which was not in an unusual place—forefinger, actually, if that helps.

Helps a lot.

Got this splinter. And I’m trying to dig it out. Tracy goes and gets her magnified mirror so I can see it better. I’m in the bathroom.

Pants on or off?

What’s that got to do with anything?

I just need to know where you’re going with this.

What the hell is wrong with you? I wasn’t looking at anything else in the magnified mirror.

You couldn’t be blamed if you were. I mean, sometimes men like to pretend.

I’m about to kick you out of this truck.

I mean, I don’t have to, but some men.

I hate you right now.

It stems from jealousy; I understand.

Can we get back to the splinter? I asked.

That isn’t a metaphor for…

"‘Have a black friend,’ they said. ‘You’ll learn some culture,’ they said. What the fuck do they know?"

BT laughed; even if I was a little perturbed, it was still a good sound to hear.

"Wooden splinter received from the railing on my dick. Deck! Fucking deck. I give up."

Imagine how many more books Freud could have written if he had met you?

Had a normal, not phallic, splinter in my hand, not my junk. Was using Tracy’s mirror to look at that and only that. We clear so far?

Hey man, it’s your story. Tell it any way you want.

This was just supposed to be a small observation.

Go ahead, man.

I’m working on the little pain maker, got it out after about five minutes, then I’m going to put the mirror up, I lean in close while I’m putting it in the cabinet, my face a couple of inches from the thing. I’m looking at my nose and cheeks in a way I never had before and I didn’t like it.

You’re not the only one that derives pain from looking at your face.

You really are a shit.

I’m just getting it all out there, he said. It’s only a matter of time until you start laying into me, and I want to be one up. Go on about your face being painful.

That’s not what I said. I sighed. I’m saying, I was looking at my face magnified and there’s…I mean, you’re just not supposed to look that closely, I think. Pores, blackheads, errant little fucking hairs that don’t belong; it’s like looking at an alien landscape. That is why I think women tend to be pissed off more than us. They spend a good portion of the day looking into this piece of glass at the flawed entity looking back at them, and they think that’s what we see, and not the deep beauty and profound love that is actually there.

Sometimes, you surprise me. Here I was preparing myself for some idiotic observation and you actually have some decent insight. Got a feeling it’s going to be a weird day.

That’s it? Gonna be a weird day?

What? I said you were insightful. What more do you want?

I’ll take it. We drove a few more miles in silence.

Always wanted to tell you, Mike, I’m really glad you came into that supermarket that day.

Me too, man, me too. You want to hold my hand now?

Don’t spoil this by making me smash your face. Can you tell me why we’re coming back out here?

I left Eric a note.

Why would you leave him a note? There are not many crazier than you, but that guy could run circles around your issues.

He could help.

Yeah, he could help like the colonel’s nuke could help. Sometimes you’re better off foregoing that type of support.

Sometimes we’re up against it, bud, and when you’re falling without a net, you’ll grasp at anything—even if it could be just smoke and mirrors.

If half of what he said is true, which I haven’t bought just yet, what makes you think he even answered?

Gut feeling.

Bullshit. How many times you been out here?

I looked over at him.

You come out here every day, don’t you?

Yeah, okay, Clouseau. Good for you.

Every day? By yourself?

I’m safe about it.

This is the last time, Talbot. You want to keep running this fool’s errand, that’s fine. But not alone.

I knew you cared.

It’s not so much me directly. Something happens to you, your sister is going to lose her shit, and that directly impacts me.

I’ll take indirect caring, I told him.

Why today?

Huh? I asked.

If you’ve been coming out here all this time alone, why did you ask me to come?

I ordered you.

As if you could order me.

I pointed to my bar.

Big deal. Now answer the question.

You’re not going to like it.

Keep going.

I had a bad feeling about it. This run, I mean.

Seriously, Talbot? If you had a bad feeling, why wouldn’t you bring the whole squad?

Because what if I’m wrong?

And if you’re right, it’s just my ass on the line. Is that it?

Come on, BT, you know I don’t think it that far out. I brought you because you are the baddest motherfucker I know. If you were me, wouldn’t you want you with you at all times?

True that, he said.

The school was a charred mass of destruction. Shrapnel from the missile strike stuck out of the strangest places at the weirdest angles. Saw a student’s desk embedded in a telephone pole nearly thirty feet in the air; something about the alienness of that struck a discordant chord within me. Kind of like watching an elk walk on its hind legs.

Shit, I muttered as I got closer to the drop point.

Oh, isn’t that sweet…you left him a red bow, BT said as he scanned the area.

Not my bow, I told him.

Shit. He echoed my sentiment.

Wasn’t a fan of bows; not so much when the world was more on the normal-ish side and definitely not now. It seemed so unsettling and garish in our gray world. Nobody would want to stick out like that, not anymore.

Cover me, I told him as I cautiously approached, rifle raised tactically.

You think this is a set-up? Maybe a boobytrap?

I was reaching out with my free hand to grab the bow-tied bag. I paused. Well, now I’m thinking it’s definitely a boobytrap. Thanks for that.

Someone has to keep you from blowing yourself up.

Been waiting for a damn message, and now I don’t want to hear it. I moved closer, taking a look. I think it’s a phone.

Like ET phone home, phone?

One of them old-school, brick-looking ones.

Could be a bomb.

God, you’re such an asshole. I had been reaching again for the bag before I quickly pulled back.

Seems like an elaborate set-up though. You would think if some sicko was going to plant a bomb, they’d want to be close by to watch.

Probably right. Who’s going to hang around for who knows how long to see if someone trips this thing? I started reaching again.

Or! he shouted. They’ve watched your little routine here for the last couple of days and know you’ll be along fairly soon.

I’m done with this. I ripped the bag out of the small hole it was in, gritting my teeth as I did so. What that would do for me if it blew, I’d no idea.

Huh, BT stated. I pegged it at fifty-fifty.

Fifty percent chance this was either a phone or a bomb?

Exactly.

And you still let me grab it?

That’s far better odds than I give most of the shit you do. Figured you’d probably be all right.

Had to think on that for a minute. I fucking hate when you’re right.

He shrugged. Is there a note?

I shook my head as I flipped the phone around.

A phone number?

Nope, nothing. I tossed it over to him.

That’s weird. You think it’s a remote detonator?

Enough with the bomb shit.

Okay, so I’m sitting here with an ancient cell phone, no note, no number to call, and even if there was a number, it’s not like the satellites are still operational. Has a charge, by the way. He frowned as he powered it on and there was the familiar chime of a startup. This thing has been tampered with, he said as he ran his fingers around the seam.

Press some buttons. I took a step back.

Asshat, he said as he depressed the number 1. What the hell. It’s ringing. He looked over to me in surprise. Hello?

Is this BT? I see my phone worked perfectly. That’s exquisite.

It’s for you. BT couldn’t hand the thing off fast enough.

Hello?

Michael? How very good to hear from you. I see you got my package.

Where are you? I was looking around.

I am nowhere nearby; you can stop looking. Can I help you with something? I’m a little busy.

Nothing comes to mind at the moment.

Good, good. Just wanted to say good luck. Seems to me you’re going to need it. The line went dead.

What’d he say? BT asked.

He hung up on me. I was looking at the phone like maybe it held more answers.

Why do you always open up the cans clearly marked ‘worms’? He’s too much of an unknown, Mike. Lot of weird shit with that guy, or whatever he is. Magic statue, flaming swords…I think you’d be trading in one world-ending event for another.

Tell you what, man, I’m not really sold on this apocalypse. Maybe trading it in would be for the best.

Yeah, I’ll remind you of those words when we’re being chased down by possessed trucks.

I pocketed the phone. Let’s go.

You telling anybody about this?

Not likely. I just got out of trouble, and contrary to popular belief, I do not wish to live in that state of misery any more than necessary.

1

Mike Journal Entry 1

I was barely dressed as I headed out the door. Didn’t matter to me there was a smattering of rain, fog, and more than a slight chill in the air. I popped on my sneakers, more because my backyard was constantly under assault from the hindquarters of the small pack of dogs that now resided with me than because of the weather. Through the minefield of shit was the fastest way to where I needed to go. Patches might be an aloof pain in the ass sometimes, but cleaning up her refuse was a lot easier, I thought as I sidestepped another potential landmine. I wondered if I put a giant sandbox out here if they would use it. Probably not, I decided.

Sir? Sergeant Winters asked as I cut through his yard. He was staring at me through his window, a cup of something steaming in his hand. Bennington had given my entire squad base-housing as opposed to living in the apartment complex, and on top of that, they were all close together. Right now I was happy about that, partly because I could travel through friendly territory to get to where I was going and, secondly, I was beginning to realize just how cool out it was, especially since the mist was starting to soak through the limited amount of clothing I had donned. I was glad I didn’t have to cross the compound. I gave Winters a quick raise of my hand as I hurried past.

I knocked on BT’s door. Well, more like pounded on, but that’s semantics, I think—not entirely sure if the word applies to actions. My sister answered. I was taken aback; she wasn’t dressed much better than me as she pulled a robe over her shoulders and belted it shut.

Mike? Everything alright? She had to ask that, otherwise why the fuck was I out in boxers and a Widespread Panic t-shirt that had seen better days nearly a decade ago. The sneakers without socks wrapped up the entire package.

BT here? I asked, looking past her.

Good to see you too. Come on in.

A huge part of me genuinely wished I had used the inter-base communication system and called first. BT was at the stove, cooking breakfast. I was staring straight at his completely exposed backside—well, I mean, except for the string of the apron that was straining to hold on. He turned, spatula in hand. I could not avert my gaze quickly enough. His barrel chest stood out proudly, as did the protrusion at the bottom of the apron. The material was far too small for a man of his massive stature.

Fuck me. I was shielding my eyes with my hand. Can you go put some clothes on for fuck’s sake?

I could say the same for you. And no, it’s early, and I’m off for the day. There’s something extremely liberating about making pancakes in the nude. Lucky for you I’m making bacon or I wouldn’t have even bothered with this, he said as he pulled on the corner of his smock.

I still hadn’t looked up. Trip’s alive. I wanted to get out what I had to say as quickly as possible and retreat to a safer area, namely, my home. My sister tossed me a towel, which I was grateful for as I wiped myself down.

BT stopped everything he was doing. You had the haunted house dream too? He paled quickly.

Haunted house dream? What are you two talking about? Lyndsey asked.

I did, I answered.

Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything. But he didn’t turn his pancakes, which were beginning to smoke.

Want me to do that? Lyndsey had gone up to him.

What? No, he told her as she took the cooking utensil away from him. Now what? he asked as he walked to the juncture between the kitchen and the living room, which I was standing in. Not ten seconds later, my sister started cussing. She’s messing up my breakfast, Mike.

I know, man.

All she had to do was flip the pancake.

I know, I sympathized.

So, say for the sake of argument that strange-ass dream you dragged me into has some validity. How do we go about finding the man?

Trip seemed to think we’d run into him at some point.

BT eyed me warily. Come on, he relented. We finally got some downtime and you want to request to go back out? Why? He knows we’re at Etna. Let him come.

You know it’s not that easy. Otherwise, he’d have just shown up. We’d be walking along one day at the park and he’d be sitting under a tree smoking a joint saying how we looked familiar or something.

Probably have a ring of snack bags around him. BT had a smile.

SHIT! shot out from the kitchen.

Everything all right, honey? BT asked from the couch.

Dropped a pancake. It’s fine. Shit! she said again.

How do you drop a pancake? he whispered.

Dammit, she swore.

I’ve got to go help her, or there will be nothing left. You do whatever you think you need to do to get us out there. You know I have your back.

Thanks, man, and normally I would have yours. Just…not right now, I said to his retreating, unclothed backside.

You know you like what you see. He smacked his ass hard as he headed into the kitchen.

Never going to unsee that. I was heading for the front door. I could hear BT comforting Lyndsey.

It’s okay, babe; pancakes are difficult, even for chefs.

As I headed home, Winters was still looking out his window, his hand on the screen as if waiting for me to come back by.

We heading back out? he asked astutely.

I have intel that Trip and some of those with him might still be alive and in need of our help.

Normal channels of intel or Trip channels? Winters asked. I didn’t bother with an answer. He’d figure it out soon enough.

Just let me know; I’ll be ready when you need me to be.

Got home, dried off again and put on some more traditional garb for the elements and then went to Tracy’s school to let her know. If I got my way with Bennington, I was going to be out the gate long before lunch.

Aren’t you on leave? Colonel Bennington asked. He looked tired and sighed when he saw me.

I am, I told him.

You normally wear your BDUs?

I don’t.

Can we get to why you’re here then? I have a meeting with the Civilian Board; they’re driving me crazy. That Deneaux…she merits a close watching. Pretty sure she wants my job.

Nothing pretty about it, sir.

That’s right; you would know about her. I have you to thank for that.

My small gift to you, sir.

Spill it, Lieutenant. I can about see the itch you want to scratch.

Some of this I’ll need you to take with a grain of salt.

Would it be too much for me to ask you for a cup of coffee before you begin?

He had downed nearly the entire beverage by the time I wrapped up my semi-mystical recounting of how I knew one of my people was still out there and needed help.

So, you want me to risk the limited supplies and personnel we have here on an ill-conceived rescue mission based on a dream? His tone did not invade the incredulousness of his words. I think on some level he wanted to believe me; it was my job to convince him.

Sir, I know it’s not the preferred method of intel gathering, but Trip, well, he’s unique in his abilities.

You’re saying he’s a dream walker?

Will that give me the permission I need to go look for him?

Are you sure this isn’t just your subconscious overlapping what you want to be true? We’ve all lost people out there, Talbot, and we’ve all dreamed about them during better times…and worse, unfortunately, he added as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

If this doesn’t make matters even more confusing, sir, my gunny, BT, had the same dream.

Bennington peered at me, maybe trying to decipher whether this was some elaborate ruse.

As for Trip, honestly, sir, I don’t know what he is. I thought carefully on my next words, and in the end I figured it would be better to be truthful than not. Bennington could sniff out lies before you uttered them. He uses more drugs than clinical studies, he seems clueless at every turn, but I’ve never met a person with more uncanny ability to sidestep danger, and what’s even more strange is he seems completely oblivious to what’s about to happen but still manages to come through completely unscathed. I’ve known him since nearly the beginning; he saved my ass a couple of times. I feel like I owe him.

He sighed again. According to you, Lieutenant, you don’t even know where to begin searching. He told you he was coming west, but it would be hard to even call that a minimal direction.

Non-existent would be better, sir.

And still you want to try?

I know Trip. Once we get out there, it will happen.

Are you going to be the one to tell your squad they’re being activated early, or do you want me to play the role of villain?

I’m going to ask for volunteers for this mission, I told him.

So, basically, your entire squad is going.

I would think so, sir.

Private Halsey? Are you going to fill his position?

I don’t think they’re ready for that just yet.

And what about your Private Harmon? My understanding is she’s still a little shell-shocked. I’d offer her a desk job in my office, but your people are so fiercely loyal to you I think she’d tell me to stuff it.

That was a sticky widget for me. I tended to make rounds to my entire squad each day, see how they were doing. Most were fine, but every day when I would knock on her bedroom door, Harmon’s unkempt appearance led me to believe she seldom left the room she shared in the large house with a few of the others. The dark circles and redness to her eyes let me know that more times than not she had been crying. She was working through it; I made sure that she continually had someone to talk to, but she was in no shape to go back out into the field, now, or possibly ever. The risks were too great for her and the rest of the squad, but there could be no way I’d leave her behind without her knowing. Still, that vote of no-confidence would follow her around, if only in her mind, for a good long while.

Maybe order her, sir. I don’t think she’s ready to head back out.

Don’t like it, Talbot. A reduced squad going to who knows where, getting into who knows what. That is a lot of unknowns.

Still better than some of the military intelligence I’ve got in the field.

He let out a soft chuckle. If only that weren’t true. Three days, Lieutenant. That’s it. That’s all I’m authorizing. And I don’t want your ass calling in and saying you need more time. Seventy-two hours—say it.

Seventy-two. Yes, sir.

Starting now. He glanced at his desk clock. You be back on this base with or without him in that time frame or so help me, I will think of new and unusual punishments, not just for you, but your entire squad. Am I clear?

Relatively, sir.

Get your ass out of here. Go and get your friend and those he’s with. I will want a full report upon your return, and bring the hippie in with you.

You remember that order when I do, sir. I smiled as I turned and left his office.

2

Mike Journal Entry 2

The gang’s all here! PFC Kirby said, looking around as we loaded up our gear into the three Hummers the colonel had been kind enough to let me use. Wait, where’s Harmon?

She’s sitting this one out, I told him.

Oh, that’s no good, he said solemnly. Without her here, I’m the lowest ranking.

Grimm and Springer were both PFCs as well, but had achieved the rank a week before him, which, by default, did make Kirby the low man on the totem pole.

You tell me that it’s time to clean our weapons and I’ll know something’s up, he said in all seriousness. He was referring to an outdated training manual having to deal with assessing the threat of a biological or chemical danger. If in doubt, you were to get the lowest ranking personnel to begin the process of breaking down their weapons for cleaning and while they were doing that, the commanding officer was supposed to pick the lowest ranking individual among them to remove their protective gear. If they died a horrible death, it was safe to assume that it was not alright for the rest of the group to remove their equipment. The Marine Corps had never bothered with political correctness.

Better yet, just leave your rifle with me. BT reached out with his hand.

Har har Gunny, Kirby said as he was about to climb into the Hummer. Wait, he’s not serious, is he? he asked, looking over to me.

Not yet, I told him before going to get in the lead Hummer.

I had Gary, aka Sergeant Gambo, driving the middle Hummer and Winters driving the last one. Tommy I wanted with me. BT took up nearly the entire backseat.

Now what? Tommy asked. We were a couple of miles outside the gate at our first true junction. We could continue south or east.

East, until we get word differently, I said as I scribbled in my journal.

Yeah, Mr. T, but do you want 90 East or 84 East? he asked.

I pondered on the route but did my best not to overthink it; I went with what popped into my head first. Eighty-four. I went back to what I was doing.

Exactly what kind of word are you expecting to get? BT was leaning forward and simultaneously looking over my shoulder. I did my best to cover up. Did I just see my name? Now he was like a dog with a bone; he was not going to let it go. He was reaching for it, and I was doing my best to keep it away from him. It was not going so well, considering BT could rip my seat right from its moorings, if he desired.

He read it for a couple of minutes before finally handing it back. Those were nice words you wrote about me. Then he sat back. Good thing, too. Thought I might have to hurt you. I noted the big man was staring through his window in an effort to keep me from seeing the water that had welled up in his eyes.

I got a lot of writing done as BT had fallen asleep, and there wasn’t much else to do or watch out for. After two hours on the road, I was questioning the necessity and the dismal success probability of this venture. Ten more minutes driving, Tommy, then I want you to find a decent place to pull over. We’ll discuss what we’re going to do from there.

I had zoned out and wasn’t even aware that much time had passed until Tommy pulled into a scenic overlook. Unfortunately, with the fog, there wasn’t much to gander at. Ten minutes, he said.

About time, sir! Corporal Stenzel yelled at me as she hopped out of the Hummer she was in and headed for a more secluded area.

Pair up before you all start heading your separate ways! I told them. Corporal Rose jogged off with Stenzel; the men went over to the small border and began to water the rocks en masse. BT finally extracted himself; he stretched and yawned loudly.

Glad you could join us, I told him, received the finger that, by now, was almost involuntary on his part, just reflexive.

What are we doing?

"I’m debating on turning the whole caravan around. Last night and this morning this seemed like exactly what I needed to do, but now that we’re out here I don’t have a clue as to how