Zombie School: Zombies 2.0, #4

By J.P. Westfind

The world is divided in three, the uninfected, zombies, and those managing Mustang infection through drugs or cannibalism.

 

US Senator Richie Steele is hiding out with a band of Arapaho and Shoshone - Mustang refugees. Steele's bad habits have helped him wear out his welcome, but now they need him. Masquerading as a teacher, he is sent to infiltrate a girls boarding school that has the resources they need to survive. This safe haven is not what it seems.

 

Zombies 2.0

A fresh twist on the zombie genre, no-one saw coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boyes and Crang
• Release date: Dec 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645003338

J.P. Westfind

J.P. Westfind never wanted to be a zombie writer. After an early novel failed for its lack of pace, he decided to hone his skills and began a single-minded study of action. All roads led to the genre with alternative worlds, the most thrills, and wildest characters. He fell in love with it. He hopes you’ll enjoy the world of Zombies 2.0 as much as he enjoyed writing it!

Book preview

1

Grand Theft Zombie

Steele’s Story

The car zipped out of the trees in the morning sun, like a bee. Yellow, and accelerating too fast for a dirt road after the rain. A little VW Golf, not your ideal off-road vehicle for back-country Wyoming.

A woman with honey-colored skin and long black hair stood beside me. Steele.

I tensed. I know that tone. The story of my recent life: Jackie Two-Feathers pissed off at me.

Why the hell is the ‘she’ we’re waiting for a he? And why is ‘he’ accelerating!

He’s not one of your ex-boyfriends is he? I moved forward on to the dirt road, waving my arms, putting more room between me and Jackie and willing the VW to slow down.

The odds of it being someone other than our contact driving a yellow VW Golf on a Wyoming back road at just the right time ... Maybe the woman got a cold. So long as the driver was resistance, who cares? I cared ... it wasn’t right.

I wouldn’t blame the driver for wanting to zip past us as quickly as possible. We were a raggedy-looking crew, waiting with intent on the road to Stoney Point. Me, Jackie, Fats, and the new guy, Joe. I asked to bring Joe as a favor. His first time in the field. I liked having someone along who didn’t hate me. The four of us were coated in mud from the trek here, hungry, with rifles in slings on our shoulders. Marley our sniper was up on the ridge, but the driver wouldn’t know that.

The VW aquaplaned its way through potholes full of water. Mud spat out behind, staining the yellow paint. The driver didn’t slow down, and the VW started fishtailing in the mud as he battled to keep control.

Jesus! It took me a long time to find the perfect spot, and this shithead’s freaking out. Well, it was quiet. We even set up a diversion just off Warm Springs Road, so she—now he—wouldn’t miss it. The good thing was, it was not too far from the Devil’s Hole trail, which we would be using to get the hell out of here ASAP.

I started backing up, my feet heavy with clay. The VW kept coming. Oh crap! No way we can move fast enough if it slides our way.

Run! I got ready to dive.

It slipped to the side, as a fraction too much of the front wheel got traction with a harder patch of dirt on the side of the road. We threw ourselves back as the VW rolled in slow motion. It twisted in the air until a sapling speared it, bringing it to an ear-splitting halt on its roof. The engine whined, spinning wheels gripping nothing but pained air.

I picked myself up out of the mud. We ran to the VW, guns ready.

Fats pushed me out of his way. He smashed the passenger-side window with an iron bar, showering glass all over the driver in the process. You’d never know that eight months ago Fats was an overweight Shoshone, two Snickers away from diabetes. Living on the run had stripped the weight off him.

Jackie glared at me. After you, Mustang whisperer.

This won’t be a Mustang. The Resistance just had to send someone different. They should have told us about any last-minute change. Could she be right?

My gut tightened. I hated this, but I couldn’t let Jackie see my fear. My credibility was already low. What the hell had gone wrong? I pushed my head in through the broken window to scan the car and driver quickly. It was hard to tell if someone was infected in the early stages. Should have brought the dogs. The scent of a wormer set them off instinctively, but I had to look for other signs. I picked up a hubcap off the ground. I must be paranoid. There must be another explanation.

I knocked out the remaining glass and eased myself in, then sat on the upside-down slightly crushed roof of the VW. At least the engine stopped whining and died.

You awake, buddy? By the number of burger wrappers now settled on the ceiling of his car, this guy could open his own profitable franchise. Farm lot beef wasn’t going to be enough to keep the Mustang hunger at bay.

The driver hung upside down suspended by his seat belt. Blood seeped out of his chest where a tree branch had impaled him through his striped business shirt. This guy was built, with dodgy dyed blond hair. Blood mixed with sweat had poured down over his face, blocking his vision in his right eye. He blinked and turned his head my way.

Easy, fella. We’ll get you out of here. My nostrils flared. Definite lie. Why did you accelerate? We’ve been waiting for you.

The driver looked down at the oak sapling impaling him, breathless, struggling to moan, fighting to stay awake.

Damn, if he’s a Mustang, he could pop any second. I felt Jackie give me a tap on the leg, but I ignored her, looking around. Oil and gas fumes were strong. My head swiveled. There was a satchel in the back of the car.

I heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

The driver blinked with fear. His arms broken and bent backward over his head, he was powerless to wipe the blood streaming down his face. His hands still made signals, caressing whatever was within reach. He’d grown a beard to disguise some other tells, but not enough. He was shivering. His sunglasses had come off when he crashed, and beneath the blood his blue eyes were icy clear.

I’d bet Jackie was smoldering with impatience behind me. I struggled to concentrate, the tension creeping over my face. Our friend is gonna need some help, I said over my shoulder. I made eye contact with Jackie and shook my head.

She leaned out of view. Joe, get the trunk open. I felt her up against my back, whispering. Hurry the hell up, Steele—the dogs are almost here. Is he the contact or what?

I caught sight of something under his shirt, hurting him, straining against his shirt. Crap crap crap! I started wriggling back out of the car, holding the hubcap in front of me like a shield in case the worm jumped. I snatched at the satchel and the Oxy from the back of the car roof where it had landed, keeping an eye on the driver. I kept my eyes on the driver’s stomach and the worm moving underneath his shirt.

Well? Jackie’s soot-stained face appeared next to the open driver’s-side window. She moved up close to the driver’s face. Still alive? She slapped the driver’s face. Eh, you still alive?

I make four tells. Clear eyes, sunglasses, skinny, and a worm pushing on his belly. "Not too close, Jackie, or I’ll have to find someone else to hate me."

She pulled back like she’d been burnt and came around to the passenger side. I heard her grunt something before Fats smashed in the back window. A second later Jackie was in behind me.

I pulled a manila folder out of the driver’s satchel, flicked it open, and started to read. My eyes flickered between the wormer and the sheet. The paper was crisp and white like nothing I’d seen in a long while. The first document was a topped by the crest of Dubois Ladies Selective School, titled letter of appointment.

Vernon Atkins - Japanese language teacher.

Jackie took a sideways look before I covered it up.

She tried to keep her distance with her body but also reached out to cut a hole in the driver’s pants where the bulge of his wallet sat. Jackie’s Bowie knife barely seemed to touch the fabric of his trousers, slicing through and letting the wallet fall into her hands.

Not too close!

Jackie started rifling through his wallet, sneering. Look at this ID—we’ve got ourselves a wormy teacher. You looking forward to getting to a school of uninfected kids so you can infect them? Eh, Mr. Vernon Atkins of 3448 Lime Avenue, Las Vegas. Who’d you kill for this car?

I shoved the manila folder back in the satchel, leaned over, and pulled Jackie back by her shirt. You need to move back out of the strike range of that thing.

Jackie went to hit me, but I pointed to the burger wrappers.

Something’s hungry. Then I pointed at his shirt. You could just see it. More blood streamed from under the driver’s shirt across his neck and pooled on the VW’s roof.

Come on, stay awake, said Jackie.

Hey, fella, I yelled as the driver’s eyes flickered open.

Where’s Tanya? Who sent you here? Are there Mustangs at the school?

Help me, he moaned.

Jackie cuffed me on the back of the head. This is a clusterfuck, Steele. We should be raiding for supplies now.

Hey, Atkins, she said, prodding the driver with her Bowie knife.

Where’s Tanya? Tanya the girl who should be driving this car? Jackie had adjusted the rearview mirror so the driver could see her. Come on, guy, do us a favor, and we’ll make sure the dogs don’t eat you alive. One good turn deserves another, eh?

The driver looked up as Jackie tilted the rearview mirror down.

He saw his thin body and the blood dripping down from the hole the tree branch made in his chest.

I monitored his body, not just his eyes. The something moving around under his shirt—sure wasn’t a puppy.

A gurgling, popping sound came from his gut, and the driver started to scream and pant. He looked like he was going to retch, and the stream of blood running down to his head came quicker now, making a sticky red pool among the burger wrappers.

School … Don’t …, the driver raved.

Are there Mustangs there? I yelled. My heart raced. Have you been in contact with the resistance?

The worm in his gut moved faster.

Are there Mustangs in the school?

Jackie turned back to Fats, watching intently. Get the new guy to stop frigging around and pop that trunk open, before those dogs are here. She leaned forward and slapped the driver. Eh, Sleepy. Does anyone know you at the school?

Atkins’s worm was pushed up his shirt, moving along looking for a weak point.

They call the infected Mustangs, we call them wormers. Even that’s wrong—worms don’t have teeth like a piranha. One of those things can go through a leather jacket when it’s time to spawn.

Watch his guts, Jackie. That worm’s ready to blow. Jackie always got too close. Counting coup, she called it. More like attempted suicide by worm. She knew we’d have to kill her if she got infected but did it anyway.

Jackie jerked backward as Atkins snapped his teeth.

Sweat poured from my underarms. What is she thinking?

Jackie moved forward again. What do you know about the resistance? Where’s Tanya, you wormer creep?

For a second Atkins came back into himself, smiling. Tanya was tasty.

She went to stab him, but I grabbed her arm. No—we need information. I started edging back, sliding my legs back out the window.

Dogs barked outside.

The driver’s eyes flickered, momentarily alert, then softened. Stay away ...

The worm made its move. The head of the worm shot through the nylon cotton business shirt straight at Jackie’s body, but I read it right. I pushed Jackie back with my left arm and blocked the worm with the hubcap before it hit her. It was massive, the size of an eel.

The worm reared like a snake and sprang for me as Jackie’s knife went through its head.

Jesus!

The driver faded almost straightaway after that. The infected never lasted long once their worm had jumped. Jackie snatched the driver’s satchel from me and crawled out.

I checked his jacket pockets. My lucky day. There was a small flask that felt full and some more Oxycontin in his pocket. The wormers couldn’t drink much—all the more for me—but the Oxycontin would take the edge off for weeks. I grabbed his backpack and put the flask and Oxycontin in my pocket. I held my breath in thanks.

An irregular pack of town mutts had arrived. They were smaller, but sometimes those were more vicious than the wolf packs. The guys held them off with sticks and the threat of guns that we didn’t dare use. Dogs were good as an early warning system, but you didn’t want them to arrive to a wreck before you. You couldn’t interrogate a half-eaten corpse.

I wriggled back out with my plunder. Fats had pulled a hose out of his pack and put it into the gas tank. He sucked on one end until the gas started flowing, then ten seconds later spat out the first mouthful. The gas fumes were like perfume, but it couldn’t clean the smell of the wormer’s burst intestines out of my nostrils. Fats let gas run all over the ground near the car for twenty very long seconds before pulling the hose out of the tank.

Leave him for the dogs, Fats. Don’t waste an arrow, I said. You aren’t going to make that shot. You miss, and you’re going to bring a whole heap of zombies on us.

Fats pretended I hadn’t spoken and kept working. He wrapped some fabric around one of his arrows and poured the remaining gas in the hose over it. I hated the standard procedure; even watching him set it up made me feel anxious.

The dogs snarled at the scent of blood, slowly getting more aggressive. Joe was spooked—he was having trouble keeping the dogs away from the car.

Man’s best friend, eh? he said, trying to keep calm.

I caught his eye. Hey, just listen to Jackie. We’ve done this before. Another lie. My whole plan was screwed, and to top it off zombies had our scent. I had to contact the resistance. I liked the kid—no need to worry him. Total clusterfuck!

Joe nodded like some bobble-headed toy all wide-eyed. Threats of sticks and the odd hit kept the dogs away for a while, but that never worked for long. Not worth getting a rabid dog bite for a wormer who was going to turn zombie.

Two bags from the trunk on the ground and hopefully some good loot of some kind. I opened one filled with books on learning Japanese. Useless. Jackie screamed at me to carry it.

Nice way to treat a congressman. I knew that would rile her.

You’re a nothing, she spat.

That stung. I wanted to tell Jackie what I thought of their stupid faces, like a proper four-year-old.

A thin whistle came from the top of the ridge. Marley’s signal for zombies coming.

Zombies! Run, screamed Fats at the new guy. Take the other bag. Move!

2

The Food Chain

Noodle’s Story

Iwas hungry. We were all hungry. Desperately hungry. We could smell zombies in the distance but fresh meat much closer.

I followed Lindy, and Rex followed me. All different, but family now, a pack. Lindy was a tan Kelpy—an Australian sheepdog but also part dingo. Rex a cheeky Jack Russell, and me a Labradoodle called Noodle, still sore all over from where a car had hit me. They were skinny like me, with their own share of cuts and bites.

My hackles rose as my belly grumbled. The stench of the others who had run up the hill was still there, but they didn’t have the scent of the worm on them. The scent that drove us crazy.

We ran into the rolled-over car as soon as they left.

Even with a limp Lindy was faster than either of us. The limp came from a bullet from the same owners who named her and raised her from a pup. When the worm got inside them they changed. Something that turned them against us.

Lindy wanted to fight me when he first caught my scent, but I knew Rex from the neighborhood, from before. Rex was little but tough; he’d take on anyone. Lindy was fast. Like me, they had been driven away from their homes but had worked out how to survive better than me.

The long hairs on the back of Lindy’s neck stood in sync with mine. Three hundred million olfactory receptors hard at work in each of our noses. We could all smell the worm. Something in our DNA told us the danger, the enemy, something to kill before it killed us.

Lindy barked, and we tore into the worm on the roof of the car. Dead or not, we hated it. For a moment we ignored the man bleeding from the gut hanging from his seat belt. Adrenaline flooded my system, unrelieved by killing the danger.

We turned to the man next; worm scent covered him. He looked dead, but he still had enough life left in him to scream as we started eating. He spasmed, but his strength was gone.

Rex shoved his face into the hole in his gut, then grabbed the intestine and pulled it out to eat on the roof of the car. The man screamed a high-pitch squeal, short of air as Lindy snapped at him, still suspicious of the worm scent.

Saliva flooded my mouth as the hunger bit, and I ignored the abscess from my broken tooth that made eating torture. I bit into a length of the intestine but squealed as pain shot through my mouth.

Lindy growled, looking across at me, before moving in on the man. She ripped out his throat, for me. Bright-red blood squirted from his neck to pool on the roof of the car. I lapped at the blood, feeling the life. The blood was good, but I needed to eat, whatever the