“You’d be surprised how many original zombies are still out there, being cared for by friends and family, he continues. “But it is a heavy burden, too much for most to handle.” He looks down at the floor, then back up. “We do what we can to help.”
Bullshit, I think to myself. Something about this story is off, but I don’t know what yet.
“You weren’t caring for them in a very hospitable environment,” I exclaim. “The lights are off, and the zombies are crapping all over the place.”
“Oh that darn power. This is an old building, in serious disrepair,” he claims, “I’ll have to ask our parishioners if they know a good electrician that can help us get things working again.
“I’m sorry about the conditions, officer. We have some people helping us keep the zombies clean every day. They don’t use the restrooms you know. I’m afraid you’ve caught us between cleanings. Good help has been hard to find, and we don’t have many financial resources just yet. We’re barely holding things together.”
This guy’s story smells as bad as it does downstairs. I ask him if he has seen a kid in a red hoodie, and he claims not to. I ask a few more questions, learning little. He continues to play the “old, overwhelmed but helpful parson” as we talk.
Meanwhile, the social services bus has arrived and Dana is bringing them up to speed. She helps bring the zombies upstairs and get them seated for transport.
Peter notices the zombies leaving for the bus. “Oh! Thank you officer for calling in help for us. I can’t tell you how challenging it has been getting this location up and running. Perhaps it is too much for an old man like me to handle.
“Once we have our act together I’m sure we’ll be better able to care for the originals. Could you tell me where you’re taking them?”
“We’ll be in touch,” I tell him, and dismiss him with a nod.
“Thank you again officer. You’re welcome to stay tonight if you’d like to hear more about the church.” He left to prepare for the church’s guests that were apparently coming tonight.
I go back to my partner outside.
Dana has already sent Jake off on his next investigation. She is just finishing up with the zombie bus.
“This guy has a million excuses Dana,” I share, “I’m not sure we can nail him for much right now, perhaps endangerment.”
Dana looks a little upset, even contemplative.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, I always say. If we keep an eye on this place, I bet we’ll uncover more going on.”
“Okay,” Dana replies, “I like to get this place shut down. Endangerment isn’t enough.”
The bus leaves with its zombie cargo. I have no idea where they’ll go or who will look after them. I hope they know what they’re doing.
A few minutes later, people start arriving at the church.
Most of the people arriving seem to be entering in pairs. I see a few people carrying those “Progressive Faith” brochures like Dana found in Craig’s apartment.
I look closely at the pairs arriving and notice that many of them have one person wearing the tattoo of the infected.
I point it out to Dana, and she nods.
“Say Dana, it seems that destiny has put us here at just the right time. I’d like to stay and watch. See if I can learn anything useful.”
“Ok Rob,” she replies, “I can’t stand it here. I’m going to head home and file our report against this place. I’ll catch a bus. See you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, take it easy. Call me if I can help.”
I follow a few people back into the church, and take a seat by myself behind the others. I catch up on email on my Windows Phone while I wait. It is so much fun to use.
Peter begins the service. “Friends and neighbors, thank you for joining us today to learn more about the Church of Progressive Faith.
“I see several new faces – this is wonderful! Tonight won’t be exactly like our sermon held on the weekends. Tonight is a social gathering to help you learn more about us and decide if you’d like to join.”
At this point, I notice the unique symbol hanging behind Peter and his pulpit. It is a Z made with two crosses on their sides, pointing in opposite directions. The traditionally horizontal part on each cross is placed at an angle to create a diagonal line connecting the top and bottom lines in the Z.
Peter the pastor continues his presentation. “As you may know, Progressive Faith is the first church to welcome and integrate humans and zombies together. If you have friends that are zombies, I’m sure you realize that they aren’t all that different.”
Peter glances towards me, “even our local police department have humans and zombies successfully working together. They are inspirational.” He smiles at me, the bastard.
He goes on to talk about how the Seattle location is joining a growing list of churches becoming part of the Progressive Faith, and how Zombies are becoming an increasing asset to all of our communities.
“Now folks, I don’t know if this is true, but it makes sense to me. Some say that Jesus was the first zombie.”
I gape at him. This is quite the observation!
“Jesus died, and then rose from the dead. Then hundreds of years passed without anyone ever doing this again. Now, it happens all the time. Several of you here today have turned in just the same way. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I know what I believe.”
Peter then leaves the pulpit, and walks over to a pair sitting in front on the right.
“I’d like you all to meet Meg. She is a zombie that’s been with our church since the beginning, and she has been instrumental in our success so far.”
Meg is middle aged, with light grey hair. She’s wearing a hat and a sun dress. She has the infected tattoo with red tears.
“Meg here helped us find this wonderful building, and pulled together many volunteers to help us clean it up and get the church running.”
There is scattered clapping throughout the hall. Meg is beaming. I wonder what she thinks of the basement.
“But her contributions don’t stop there my friends. She has continued to be a pillar of the community, and has introduced several new zombies to the church. Meg, thank you so much for everything you do. You are our sacred sister. We wouldn’t be here without you.”
Several zombies nearby pat Meg on the back, or rub her shoulders in affection, while others in the room cheer.
The pastor continues to call out the good works of two others, an older zombie named Jerry, and a teenage zombie named Simon. The stories he shares are interesting, dramatic, and both result in the zombies cheering and patting each other vigorously.
“Now I know we’re only getting started in Seattle,” Peter continues, “but I have to tell you how well we’re doing so far. We’ve already got more people in our church than in Portland Oregon, Coeur d'Alene Idaho, and Vancouver Canada. I’m really proud of the work you’ve all been able to accomplish. It seems that people are really enjoying the church and our activities. You should feel great about the success of your church.”
Peter finishes his short sermon with two zombies getting up to tell their personal stories of why they love the church, and how the pastor and church helped them pull through or make the right decision in times of need. The attendees applaud and cheer them on.
“Thank you all again for coming,” Peter wraps up, “let’s break for some refreshments and pleasant conversation. If any of you have any questions, please do come and see me.”
The order is different, and the content of course, but I’ve seen this type of show before.
I don’t have a reason to talk to anyone here; it is time for me to go. I leave the building and head to the car.
Peter stood near the refreshments with a drink in his hand, smiling. He had noticed Detective Stack leaving earlier. None of the police from before remained.
A young girl no older than twenty one approached him. “Hi pastor, I’m Jennifer. My friend
here tells me that I can become a zombie just like him.” She had a hopeful look on her face. Her clothes were a little ragged, and she had dirt smeared on her cheeks. Perhaps it was from crying a while ago. She wore the tattoo of the infected.
“My dear child, are you saying you’d like to progress to the next level of human evolution, and join the flock?” Peter’s voice was soft and caring.
“Yes, I think I would.”
“We will be happy to help you, young Jennifer.” Peter smiled warmly.
* * *
Thursday June 24, early morning
I had trouble sleeping, and got up earlier than usual. My mind raced through the night, and after awaking too early, couldn’t return to sleep.
I got up, walked to the kitchen, started some coffee, and put two slices of bread in the toaster.
As I am standing here slightly dazed and staring at the wall, I hear a light thump by the front door.
I stumble over, scratching my back side as I walk. I peek through the spyhole to find nobody there.
I open the door and notice a brown, wrapped package with just my first and last name written on it in black marker. It must be Christmas, I joke to myself.
Carrying the package inside, I place it on the dining room table. I notice that the toast is ready, add some butter, and grab the fresh cup of hot coffee waiting for me. I smell it – black, just as I like it.
I bring my hearty breakfast to the table and take a closer look at the small package.
It doesn’t seem that suspicious, and it’s not big or heavy enough for a bomb. I open it. It contains a folder with pictures and many photocopies of various types of documents. I spread them out on the table while having a sip of coffee and a bite of toast.
There are black and white photos of various people I don’t recognize, and a few that I do. Some of the people are circled and named. I spend at least ten minutes going through all of the information within.
After reading through everything twice and connecting the dots, I realize that the information here suggests that an important person has been deeply involved with the drug shipment we found at the harbor.
The evidence incriminates Ben Hernández, the Chief of Police. It was just yesterday that he tore a strip in my hide for the zombie turning implications of our investigation.
Nobody is here to hear me, but I speak aloud anyway. “Shit. Today is going to suck.”
* * *
“Ok mercs – attention! The fight against drugs is in our own backyard today, and we’ve been brought in through special request by the DEA and the Department of Homeland Security for our special brand of assistance. They need a quiet recovery operation with zero casualties – today we’ll be working within US borders.” The head mercenary looked over the tough zombie crew, and continued.
“This is not a drill. We’ll be in civilian territory in the harbor of Seattle – and therefore civilian protection protocols are in place. We’re under the radar – everyone should be wearing civilian clothes over your body armor. We don’t want a press circus implicating the government if things go bad.
“Apparently the Chinese have sent in a big drug shipment. A police unit led by corrupt cops is currently in possession of the drugs, and without our help it will go missing today and end up in our schools and streets. We must not let that happen.
“Our job will be to re-take and secure the shipment while the FBI handles the crooked cops.”
This zombie team was one of the first of its kind in the US. All of them were ex-military; men who went looking for work after the government decided that zombies were too much of a risk for protecting the nation’s borders. These young men were well trained and could take a beating in battle, as recent freelance missions in Africa and elsewhere have shown. As zombies with the right inspiration protocols in place, they were incredibly dedicated to their chain of command.
“Most of the cops at the scene do not know what’s going on. They are NOT part of the conspiracy. They are simply following tainted orders. They’re good cops, they are human, and they are Americans.”
On mention of this, a few of them whispered under their breath – “protect the Americans.”
“The point being we do not want any casualties here, even though they won’t like us. We immobilize, tranquilize, and recover. Then we’ll rendezvous and then secure the drugs for safe shipment.” The head merc walked up and down the unit as he spoke.
“Each of you will be equipped with non-lethal pneumatic tranquilizer guns and shotguns pre-loaded with heavy sand bags as your primary offensive weapons. Reserve your handguns as a last resort. We shouldn’t need to use the weapons too much – we’ll be hitting them with gas.
“I know you zombies don’t mind the gas too much – but I want to see masks on today.” A few of the zombies smiled knowingly.
He continued. “We’ll be headed to the city via different routes – we don’t want to call more attention to ourselves than necessary. We’ll have three plus a driver in each vehicle. We’ve got Cheetas and Mark 4 Balkans – two of each. They’re new and I like the paint on them. Don’t scratch ‘em up too much.
“We’ll be intersecting the police shipment vehicle on route. They’ll be on an isolated commercial road with little to no civilians around. They’ll have standard police vehicles in protective formation – two in front, two in back – you know the drill.
“Ok, time to gear up for transport. Let’s do this zombies!”
A while later, the lead zombie was in his command vehicle with a good view of the target zone. He watched the zone through binoculars.
“This is the command unit. Vehicles A through D, are you in position?”
“Copy command unit, Vehicle A ready to go.” The other three vehicles checked in as well.
Time passed.
“We’ve received the signal from our man on the ground, the target has been tagged. You should see it on your maps now.
“The target is in on the move, in the expected formation. Set your one minute timers in three, two, one, now. Converge on the target at zero. Scrambling local police radio signals.”
The loaded police cargo van was driving on a long dirt road leading out of the harbor area. It passed through an unoccupied, open fenced area and turned onto the paved road at a four-way intersection.
The four military vehicles quickly drove in to the area from three directions. One vehicle blocked and separated the rear police cars from the cargo van, causing them to slam and squeal the brakes. Another stopped in front of the van. The two police vehicles in front slammed on the brakes, hitting each other and a third military vehicle coming to a stop in front of them.
The fourth vehicle of mercenaries approached the convoy from the side, and four men rushed from it as it came to a stop. They each ran to their assigned police vehicles, carrying grenade launchers equipped with the latest in military knock-out gas.
At practically the same time, they launched grenades tailing smoke at the side windows of each police car. The windows shattered on impact, and the grenades landed within each car, pouring out smoke and gas.
This was sufficient to incapacitate one of the police vehicle’s occupants, but the five cops in each of the other three vehicles opened their doors and jumped out coughing, weeping, and reaching for their weapons. The side windows of the two intruding military vehicles rolled down a bit, allowing tranquilizer guns to emerge from within – one in front, one in back – to shoot the police. Each of the five cops went down.
All eight police accompanying the van were out of commission.
Two zombies emerged from the vehicle in front of the van, carrying what looked like fire extinguishers. They walked up to the van and doused the side windows of the front cab with nitrogen, freezing the Plexiglas while making it incredibly fragile.
At the same time, two of the men with grenade launchers moved to the front of the van, while two headed towards the back. Four men from the vehicle behind the van positioned themselves in relative
safety behind their vehicle, with tranquilizer guns and shotguns at the ready.
The two men in front launched gas grenades into the frozen windows, shattering the windows and filling up the vehicle with smoke.
The driver passed out, but his passenger – Phil, the detective leading the narcotics bust – grabbed his gun and opened the door. He took a shot at a man with a grenade launcher, hitting him in the side. As he stepped forward out of the cab to shoot again, he was hit by two tranquilizer darts – one in the neck, and one in the back.
Right at this moment, the back of the police cargo van burst open and the four police inside received a barrage of bean bags, tranquilizer darts, and gas. They managed to get a few shots off before went go down, but nobody with the zombie’s team is hit.
“Ok units,” the zombie in charge yelled, “let’s get this van to the rendezvous point.”
Two zombies got in to the van, while the other zombie drivers got ready to pull out. All of the remaining military zombies carried bodies out of the way of their vehicle’s future paths.
The rendezvous point was an empty logging yard nearby. The van and its four new protectors rushed inside. The military vehicles took up positions by the perimeter while the van drove into a massive garage.
“Set up a security perimeter around this building while they secure the package. Nobody gets in.”
Zombie guards took position around the gate to the logging yard and the garage. Only the cargo van was inside the building.
A few minutes passed.
“Ok everyone, get ready to pull out,” the zombie captain called out and on radio. The garage door raised and the cargo van emerged.
The four military vehicles took point around the police van, and accompanied it as they returned to base. The ride would take approximately 20 minutes.
“Excellent work zombies,” their sergeant beamed proudly, “no civilian casualties and only one patch-up job for our side.”
Shortly after the military vehicles left, twelve ordinary cars of various descriptions and colors exit the garage and drove out of the logging yard, each turning and heading in different directions.
Ted walked out of the garage and into the yard, flipping open his phone.
“Chief, it’s Ted,” he declared excitedly into the phone. “The recovery operation was a success. We retrieved at least 80% of the product.”