Zombie Fallout (Book 13): The Perfect Betrayal Read online

  Zombie Fallout 13

  The Perfect Betrayal

  Mark Tufo

  They say it takes a village to raise a child. It feels sort of the same way bringing a book to fruition. There’s my wife, who has to listen to my ravings when a scene isn’t working right then loses more sleep as I get out of bed once again to make notes and do revisions. There’s my editor Sheila Shedd, who must wonder why on God’s Green Earth she decided to take me on as a client (but for which I am grateful). There are my beta readers, Kimberly Sansone, Patti Reilly, and Vanessa McCutcheon, who do tireless work for no pay, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for your due diligence! There is Sean Runnette who will bring these pages to life with his regaling of this story! Then, my dear reader, there is you, without whom none of this happens. It is my sincerest hope that you enjoy this book, and, as always, thank you for your enthusiasm and support!

  To the men and women of the armed forces and first responders: you are never far from the forefront of my thoughts. Your service and sacrifice are truly appreciated.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE ONE - ERIC

  PROLOGUE TWO

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Mark Tufo

  Also From DevilDog Press

  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 p
hallic, 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.<
br />
  “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.