Zombie USA

By Paul Ibbetson

Lt. Colonel Marcus Thorne is on the mission of his life. America is suffering through a zombie virus, that combined with a treasonous rogue President, threatens to destroy the United States. Starting in a secret underground military facility, Thorne will lead an unlikely group of adventurers on a dangerous quest across the country. A quest to save a Kansas senator whose body may hold the only anti-virus able to save the living from the walking dead. ZOMBIE USA is a story about the eternal fight for freedom against tyranny. This fast paced Political Zombie Thriller encapsulates a tumultuous world full of flesh eating zombies, back stabbing politicians, covert military operatives, and the overabundance of repetitious decapitations. Readers will enjoy every blood soaked page!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781312348820

Book preview

Zombie USA

Zombie USA

Written By

Dr. Paul A. Ibbetson

No Compromise Media Group 2013

LuLu.com

Zombie USA

Written By

Dr. Paul A. Ibbetson

Cover Design by Dante Joseph

www.DanteJoseph.com

Edited By

Joyce Long

©2013 Dr. Paul A. Ibbetson. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

Interviews & inquiries: [e-mail]

ISBN

978-1-304-16737-8

LuLu.Com

www.IbbetsonUSA.com

Dedications & Acknowledgments

This book is written to all those who are interested in politics but also like a good adventure and being just a little scared when they turn off the light switch.

I would like to say thank you all my family and friends who support my writing efforts. It is my hope that when my 18 month old daughter, Niana, is of age, she will read this book and smile. This is what daddy does in the late night hours.

No Compromise Media Group 2013

Table of Contents

Zombie USA

Chapter 1 – Mission Begins

Chapter 2 – Deep Underground

Chapter 3 – The Package

Chapter 4 – No Sleep

Chapter 5 – The Journal of Senator Sellers

Chapter 6 – Zombie at Large

Chapter 7 – Blond Fury and the Hippie

Chapter 8 – New Mexico, Land of the Dead

Chapter 9 – Danger on the Highway

Chapter 10 – Zombies Can Never Go Home

Chapter 11 – The Loran Perspective

Chapter 12 – Unified Township of Jelline

Chapter 13 – Danger & Death in the North

Chapter 14 – Loran’s Forces Prepare to Attack

Chapter 15 – Roland Heights Male Detention Center

Chapter 16 – Flight

Chapter 17 – Parting Ways and the Kiss.

Chapter 18 – And the Walls came Tumbling Down

Chapter 19 – The Treason that Friends Commit

Chapter 1 – Mission Begins

Colonel Marcus P. Thorne parked his military issue jeep at what appeared to be an abandoned metal tool shed. This was one of several old metal structures scattered amid an almost endless open space of desert near the ghost town of Rawlings about eighty miles west of Los Alamos, New Mexico. Thorne scanned the open empty desert for only a moment before entering one of the non-descript worn out metal buildings with the faded yellow number 12 spray painted on the side. Thorne already knew this was the building he had to enter as well as the truth that this 2,000 acres of government land had literally hundreds of government employees working below his feet right at this very moment. Yes, Thorne, a marine colonel, had high enough clearance to know that the top secret underground military facility existed and how to get to one of its many entry points, but that was as far as his knowledge went.

Prior to the zombie outbreak twenty seven months ago, Thorne would have seen this desert as an ugly place. Of course, this was compared to his home in Lansing, Michigan, where he had fished by his father’s side as a boy on the states many green grassy lakes. Today, the town of Lansing Michigan was quite different. It was the difference between night and day, or what Thorne assumed was the difference between heaven and hell. Lansing was now infested with zombies, as was much of the northern United States, which was much different than the southern United States. The far less zombie infested southern states were protected by the intra-country border fence. Now, the open desert of New Mexico was void of corpses, burning cars, and the walking dead. It had its own beauty which was worth long, thoughtful gazes. This kind of beauty came with residual pain for Thorne. Lansing was where Thorne had met his late wife, Cindy, as a freshman cheerleader at Everett High school. Cindy was his first and only true love with her short cheerleading skirt, tan legs, and bouncing blond ponytailed hair.  Would his wife and child still be alive today if they had lived in the south? Would his baby son William, be running around and asking those simple, but profound questions kids ask if they had simply lived in a rundown shack in the middle of the New Mexico desert? Thorne smiled as he thought of Cindy calling him big boy Billy.  Thorne shook his head to clear his mind, stop it! he thought to himself.  He could speculate about these things all day, and in fact, thoughts like these were always in the back of his mind. The smallest things like a child’s toy or every stinking time he saw a blond haired woman with a ponytail, he had to tell himself not to yell out his wife’s name. He always felt like a fool as a very painful mental slideshow of his family would unwind in his mind time and time again. It was a torment that Thorne had compartmentalized to survive. Service to his country had now become more than his job. It was the diversion that kept him from insanity. Alas, the mission was waiting and Thorne would not keep it waiting any longer. He pushed the thoughts of his lost family to the back of his mind.

As Thorne entered the metal structure, the blazing sunlight of the August New Mexico afternoon suddenly dissipated and his eyes adjusted. Thorne could see an empty room, most likely a mechanics garage in a former lifetime. The shed had two additional rooms, one marked latrine and most likely not used for decades and a second room marked by a sign that said office. Thorne opened the door to this room as previously instructed and behind the door was a long narrow hallway and set of cement stairs that appeared to go straight down. As previously told, Thorne saw an old light switch on the wall to his right side. When he flicked the switch, a humming sound of a far off generator grumbled for a split second and then a series of lights powered on and a railing became visible on both sides of the stairs. Thorne grabbed the rail as the descent down was awkwardly steep. Thorne took the stairs at a steady pace passing door after door at regular intervals. He did not try to open any of them. That wasn’t part of his orders. Instead, he kept looking ahead waiting to see when the greeting party would arrive. Thorne knew he was approaching a mammoth underground military facility. He could see his footprints through the accumulated dust that had collected on the pre-WWII constructed stairs. Even so, his approach was no doubt being monitored and any sign of his presence top side had probably already been removed. Thorne took the stairs down as far as a quarter mile when two soldiers, fully armed could be seen a short distance ahead. 

The soldiers saluted the colonel and led him into an elevator that seemed to descend only a short distance. Thorne could not be sure as there were no indicators of up or down, or even floor numbers on the elevator’s panel.  Upon exiting the elevator, Thorne felt like he was stepping back out into the New Mexico sunlight as he entered a brightly lit processing station full of soldiers, doctors, and high ranking brass. The place was alive with activity. Here Thorne’s military escorts were joined by three stone faced doctors in white lab coats that led him to an elaborate medical station where he was stripped of his military uniform.

Thorne was 6’2, and his muscular 205 pound body was a roadmap of scars and burns. On his right leg and left calf were long healed bullet wounds he had suffered from a Kalashnikov assault rifle wielded by a toothless member of the Taliban. This was a Taliban fighter whose bones were now permanent artifacts of the Afghanistan desert. Thorne had broken seven of his bones in total, including his right leg while sliding into third in fifth grade during summer baseball. Despite the injuries, Thorne’s body was limber and his reflexes were devastatingly quick. Thorne watched his jet black hair drift to the ground in steady cascades as he was shaved from head to foot. Next, he was showered with the help of two soldiers with long white bristle brushes that removed at least the top three layers of his skin.

You guys could find steady work in a state prison, Thorne said to the guards as hot water spray and the bristle brushes seemed to hit his body from every angle.

When that ordeal had been completed, he was given a set of gray underwear, a set of blue lace-less low top sneakers, and one set of blue hospital scrubs to wear.  Next, was five hours of medical procedures which included every test in the military health manual and several tests that could only be said to be in the new zombie evaluation medical guide. These tests included the standard Z factor blood test that checked for trace zombie infections. In very few cases, infected humans could carry the zombie infection for days or even weeks without turning, but it was rare. Most humans turned within minutes to seconds into flesh eating monsters upon infection. The doctors also ran a myriad of tests that evaluated the immune system and other biological factors that might increase the likelihood of future cures. So far the military was batting zero in that arena. At present, if a person was bitten, or had zombie blood get into their blood stream, that person was done, totally game over. Three different doctors shined hand held lights into Thorne eyes and at one point; he was instructed to place his head into a large gray metal machine that projected an image of his eyes on an eighty inch flat screen monitor. Thorne’s late wife Cindy had always told him he had beautiful blue eyes, but for the military, the eyes were one of the areas where the zombie infection was most often spread by contact with blood or other bodily fluids. Fully turned zombies most often had blood red pupils as the infection caused capillaries in the eyes to burst.

When a zombie stared at anyone there was no mistaking it. Zombie blood itself was thick, with a terrible stench, and had a strange greenish tint.  In the field, all soldiers wore some kind of eye protection to avoid infection. Goggles were often worn by special operations and then there was the standard issue clear, wrap around shooting glasses for most soldiers.  For the most part, Thorne just waited for the medical evaluations to end as the doctors had no inclination to explain all the testing that was taking place. By the time the doctors were through, every inch of Thorne’s body had been pricked and prodded and what felt like a gallon of his blood had been donated to the underground medical team.

Thorne had entered the facility unarmed as instructed. This was the first time in years he did not have a weapon at least at arm’s length. At thirty-four years old, he had been a marine sixteen years, a weapons specialist twelve years and for the last five years, a member of the elite United States Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC). In this capacity he had travelled the world conducting espionage, assassinating up and coming third world dictators, and disrupting terrorist plots around the globe. Thorne was very good at his job and not solely because he was highly trained. Thorne had a diehard belief in his country and always placed the mission first.

The last eighteen months had been a different story and these months had tested the marine’s metal to its limits. Killing Americans, even zombie Americans on U.S. soil, had not set well with him. Thorne was part of an elite class of military weapons specialists. Everything he touched became a deadly weapon. He was certified and highly efficient with almost every class of firearm from the M16 to the M4 carbine, all the way to the M2 50 caliber machine gun. However, what made Thorne so valuable to the military during the ongoing zombie outbreak were his mastery of blades. Thorne was a master of the Japanese martial art of jujitsu, which utilizes the short and long sword. Thorne could kill with deadly efficiency with the traditional katana sword. This skill, as fate would have it, propelled him to a higher level of importance. 

As part of Special Operations Command, Thorne went on several missions within the U.S. after the zombie outbreak. Most of the early missions had Thorne’s unit involved in containing zombie outbreaks in areas of high populations often in New York. Later, there were several incidents along the intra-country border fence. For a short time, special units such as what Thorne served in quietly liquidated groups of rogue zombies without creating mass public attention. However, this was a short term solution for the zombie problem and it pitted marine specialists against larger and larger numbers of the undead. One by one Thorne’s team members, many of them friends, were infected and put down in the field. Finally, the administration ordered the army to make sweeps of the major cities in the northern United States. What was left of the marine special forces were called back for re-assignment to new missions, but the damage had been done. A large number of Marine Corps Special Operations forces had been lost in what was now recognized as a protracted outbreak.

Two factors forever changed Thorne’s military assignment. The first was a radical shift in zombie behavior. Originally, zombies were thought to be regular humans under the influence of drugs or other mind controlling substances. Their attacks on humans were later thought to be acts of insanity. No one in the public had any idea that zombie bites were infectious and that even a drop of their blood could create another of the walking dead. The saving grace was that zombies were slow moving, and dim witted. They often moved around alone as solitary pieces of rotted flesh. City police in metropolitan areas were the first to discover that bullets fired into the center mass of these creatures did nothing. Only a shot to the skull would permanently put a zombie down. The military incorporated the zombie head shot into its training and Special Forces such as Thorne’s unit had put down thousands of zombies all with a single clean head shot. Thorne had killed hundreds of the walking dead himself.

Then one day a zombie remained standing after a clean head shot, then another and another. Something had changed. Near the same time as the kill tactics of the military started to fail to put down zombies, the creatures stopped their slow methodical stumbling toward military troops and began to run. They had changed and no one knew why or how it had come about.

As standard military rounds started to fail across the board, Thorne accidently discovered the military’s next practical weapon. On one of his last insertion missions, Lt. Colonel Thorne brought a modified expandable katana sword. This insertion was a part of a rescue mission to save none other than Dan Wexley, the Vice President of the United States. Even with the numerous zombie attacks on Washington D.C., Wexley had refused to leave the White House. This was despite the President’s quick, and very much suspicious, departure months earlier. Thorne’s unit was air dropped inside the White House parameter. The grounds were under full attack. Thorne had never seen so many zombies at one location and the creatures were so quick they caught the marines off guard. After fighting their way across two hundred yards of zombie infested lawn, the marines join with remnants of White House security. Together they fought their way into the mansion itself and to the oval office that Vice President Wexler had used as his own command center. Thorne thought Vice President Wexler to be a good man, over his head for a nation under zombie attack, but he had not cut and run as did President James Loran. Loran, who was known for his pretty smile and quick wit, but more so for his signature platinum blond hair, had been the Democrat golden boy. He had been victorious in the 2016 and 2020 elections. This latter election had been one of the most hotly contested of modern times. President Loran, despite his public bluster about taking the country back from the dead, had quietly evacuated the White House in the middle of the night and now only occasionally popped up to make false assurances to the public. He blamed the zombie outbreak on his political opposition. Meanwhile, Wexler attempted to run the country without the real authority needed for the task. The marine unit and White House security staff together numbered around thirty men. By the time they fought their way into the Oval Office, most of it by hand to hand combat, twenty one were still alive. Along the way Thorne began to use the expandable katana sword striking each zombie one at a time across the throat line with short powerful swings. Each time Thorne swung the sword, it was a clean decapitation. Before long he was leading the group with headless, motionless zombies lying in his wake.

Thorne was the first to enter the Oval Office. The room was in shambles and was unrecognizable from what it looked like on television. The historical paintings were torn down and the desks were broken to pieces and a small fire was burning in the far corner. There were four zombies in the room that attacked Thorne as soon as he entered. In the heat of battle Thorne presumed that two of the zombies looked to be former security staff and two had obviously entered from the outside grounds. In four wickedly rapid flashes of the katana sword, the zombies were all beheaded. It was with more than a little sorrow, Thorne later realized that one of the zombies he had put down was in fact Vice President Wexler. Other than saving a handful of security staff the rescue mission had failed. The mission’s failure weighed heavily on Thorne as he felt the country needed Wexler’s courage now, even if he was not the most effective leader. With Wexler’s death, America’s top leadership would fall back to the elusive and self-serving weasel, Loran.

To Thorne’s surprise the mission was seen as an unplanned success. Why? The after-action reports written by those who survived the mission made numerous mentions of the zombie killing efficiency of the katana sword. Days later Thorne was called in front of top marine brass and was debriefed at length about his use of the weapon. From that point on Thorne became the sword specialist not only for the marines, but all branches of the military. Within two months, Thorne had 500 sword instructors training military personnel on five variations of the marine’s design of the expandable katana sword. With a rapidity only seen in times of war, side arms and M16s were almost completely replaced by the expandable katana sword for domestic military operations against the growing zombie problem. Thorne became too valuable as a weapons specialist to be assigned missions with Special Forces. This may have saved his life in the short term, but now he had a new mission, the mother of all missions as describe by his superiors and all bets were off.

After the doctors were done with Thorne, he was brought to a private room full of white smart boards, and giant maps of different parts of the world. It was obviously a strategy room. In this room were about fifteen people, most of them politicians and military by the looks of things.

Thorne took a mental inventory of the players he knew. The large, tall man that looked like a very refined walking bear was Texas Senator Jack Clayton. Clayton had almost won the presidency of the United States in the last election and as politicians went, Thorne thought he was about as straight a shooter as they came. General Tuck Sorrenson, a short stocky black man and Secretary of Defense was present. So was the Secretary of Agriculture, a plump woman with greasy hair that Thorne knew by face, but not by name. Thorne did know General Hatcher, as this was his official high ranking contact for the mission. It was the kind of mission a soldier was told you say you’re in, and then we say what it is. Thorne had said yes and the second part he hoped would be explained today.

General Hatcher moved to Thorne who saluted at once. In strange form the General ignored the salute and extended his hand to Thorne. It’s nice to see you today, Marcus.

Thorne took the handshake while looking around the room at the group. Glad to be here sir.

There were too many serious looks coming his way, but Thorne kept his facial expressions neutral. In the military, Thorne had served with a few soldiers he had called good friends, but since the zombie outbreak his friends were getting fewer and farther apart. It had hardened the marine to a point where he was now not allowing new acquaintances to get that close to him. He could not afford the emotional ties in a world where one bite meant you were dead. Then there was the fact that he still called out every morning for his dead wife to make the coffee. When it came to the top brass, General Hatcher was the closest thing Thorne had to a true friend.  Someone he felt would cover his back, not just out of professional duty and mutual love of country but someone that actually cared about him as a regular guy from Lansing Michigan.

General Hatcher was sixty-six years old with a snow white flat top cut to almost microscopic precision. He had fought in Vietnam through the Gulf War and then was placed in Washington where he rode a desk from 9-5p.m. drinking coffee at 10:00 a.m. and again at 3:30 p.m.  The writing was on the wall that despite his perfect health, sharp mind and fighting spirit, Hatcher was entering those years where old generals are often gracefully put to bed. The zombie outbreak had extended his viability and placed him in a position to offer one last great mission to one last soldier of his choosing. General Hatcher had made his pick. The selection of Thorne was easy to legitimate on paper, highly decorated officer, unique skill set, and no immediate living family. In other words, Thorne was expendable.  He had all the necessary credentials for a mission with a highly unknown survivability rate. General Hatcher had lost his own wife to cancer years ago and understood then Lt. Colonel Thorne’s pain when his home town of Lansing, Michigan, was overrun by zombies and later carpet bombed by military forces. When Thorne’s wife and child were listed as D/I, which stood for dead or infected, the marine had almost had a complete breakdown. It was the quiet kind of breakdown that non perceptive people might not notice at all until it was too late.  General Hatcher knew the military asset existing in Thorne, but more than that he saw a bit of himself in the soldier. Maybe that was what helped him discern that Thorne was quietly spiraling out of control from grief.  General Hatcher pulled Thorne out of direct action and quietly counseled him until he was as mentally fit as any soldier who fights zombies will ever be. Thorne’s gratitude to General Hatcher was without question and when offered this special mission, Thorne took it solely because he trusted the old general’s judgment that it could be a game changer in the human fight against the living dead. Signing up for the mission came with an automatic promotion to full Colonel, but with few details. Even with the loyalty and the trust that the General Hatcher had built with Thorne, it was time for some real answers.

As Thorne looked around the room he could tell that a great unveiling was about to happen. Secrets were about to be made known.

General Hatcher took a deep breath and exhaled slowly never taking