The Longest Midnight: A Zombie Novel Read online

  “What are you doing?” Murphy said as Francis pounded the zombie hard.

  “Shut up. I’m almost there!” he yelled.

  “Stop!” Murphy yelled.

  Francis whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Murphy, all without missing a beat in his furious humping.

  “Quiet!” Francis screamed.

  Murphy hushed as Francis went on fucking the female zombie. He was clueless about what to do and couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Was this rape? She’s not human, so it can’t be rape. Right?

  Murphy felt something touch his shoulder and whipped his head to the side, fearing it was a deader. It wasn’t. It was Drake, and he looked pissed.

  “Oh yeah, baby. Yeah!” Francis yelled as he ejaculated. His post-orgasm joy was cut short as a bullet tore through the zombie whore’s head. The deader went limp. Francis pulled out.

  He knew he was fucked even before he looked at Drake’s enraged face. Francis pulled three condoms off his penis and tossed them on the ground. “Well, at least we know you’re not gay, Francis.” Drake barely concealed his fury. “But you are a necrophiliac.”

  “I tried not to do it, but…”

  Drake smashed his pistol into Francis’ face. The much larger man fell down next to the raped zombie.

  “Murphy.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Get Mifune. We’re going to have to do a blood test on this piece of shit to see if he’s infected.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  * * *

  Francis was handcuffed in a corner of the room Drake’s team was occupying in the dying skyscraper. Murphy stood several meters in front of him with his weapon ready, his finger on the trigger. Francis poured sweat and his eyes showed a fear not previously seen by the men. He knew he fucked up. It was perhaps the biggest fuck-up in his life, and might be his last.

  Mifune huddled over his blood tester waiting for the results of Francis’ test to appear. Drake smoked a cigarette as he gazed out into the Longest Midnight through one of the cracked windows. Casey was on guard duty. He had earlier jokingly assured Drake he didn’t plan on screwing any deaders. Predictably, Drake didn’t find Casey’s joke funny. Then again, he rarely found anything funny.

  A flashing light appeared on Mifune’s blood tester. “Results are in,” said Mifune.

  Francis looked up anxiously as Murphy aimed his weapon at Francis’s head.

  “And?” Drake replied.

  “He’s clean,” said Mifune with an obvious sigh of relief.

  “Oh, fuck. That was nuts,” said Francis. “Can you let me out of these things now?”

  Drake ignored Francis and kneeled down next to Mifune.

  “This was your boy. What the hell do I do with him?”

  “Let him go,” Mifune whispered. “He knows he fucked up. He hasn’t seen his wife in a year. The man was just horny.”

  “He could’ve got us all killed.”

  Mifune cleared his throat. He felt uneasy because he knew where things were going. “Well, what do you want to do?”

  “You know as well as I do we only have one choice in this.” Drake took out his pistol and put on its silencer, making sure Francis and Murphy couldn’t see him.

  “No,” Mifune whispered. “That’s not the way.”

  “You want him to risk this operation? It was you who brought him on. I trusted you.”

  Mifune knew it was his mistake in recommending him. He was nevertheless angered by Drake’s implication he failed the team in bringing on Francis. “He has over three hundred confirmed kills,” Mifune replied defensively. “He is one of the top killers at Alpha.”

  “He’s a nut job. Discussion over.” Drake stood with the pistol behind his back and walked over to Francis and Murphy. “Murphy, you’re relieved.” Murphy nodded and went to Mifune’s side. Drake towered over Francis and felt the rage inside him boiling over. All of us could have died because of his incompetence and lack of self-control. Despite this, Drake knew he needed him. He needed all his troopers. He must be punished though, punished hard.

  “Are you gonna let me go, Captain?” Francis said worriedly. Drake showed Francis the pistol. Francis’ eyes bulged in terror and he rapidly shook his head.

  “Please, sir. I’m sorry. So sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re goddamn right it won’t happen again,” Drake seethed. “We all could’ve died because of you and your fucking dick.” He aimed the pistol at Francis’ head.

  Mifune watched from a corner of the room and felt helpless. Deep down, he knew killing Francis was probably the only course of action, but his heart screamed no and said it was cold-blooded murder. He realized, however, he could not go against Drake. Drake was the boss and tensions between them could destroy the mission and the team.

  Francis closed his eyes, and a moment later, Drake fired.

  Francis opened his eyes. He was alive—for now.

  “Sir?” he said meekly to Drake.

  Drake ignored him and looked at Murphy. “Get him out of the cuffs.” Murphy dashed over and released Francis. Then Drake kicked Francis in the face, making him tumble over.

  “Sir?” Francis yelled.

  Drake took his pistol and smashed it into Francis’ face several times. Blood oozed out of his nose, mouth, and ears.

  Murphy got out the way as Drake continued his beating. Mifune looked away, unable to watch the beating, yet curiously still relieved because Drake had allowed Francis to live. Finally, the beating stopped. Francis lay unconscious on the floor.

  Drake breathed heavily from the violence and wiped off the blood on his pistol and hands using a handkerchief.

  He looked at Mifune, who was still turned away, and felt ashamed of what he had done. Oh well; fuck it! Mifune needs to be harder on the men.

  Murphy kneeled down beside Francis and shook him until his eyes wearily opened. His upper lip was already swollen and blood flowed freely down his face.

  Murphy reached into Francis’ chest pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit a smoke and placed the cigarette between Francis’ bloodied lips. The wounded man took a long and deep drag.

  Mifune watched his men and then looked at Drake. Drake sat up against the wall, sound asleep, with his M-16 lying across his lap. Mifune wondered how Drake could sleep so quickly after something so dramatic and stressful. Mifune wished he could, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Casey hated guard duty. The loneliness, silence, and fear an attack from the dead could happen always put his nerves on edge. Despite this, Casey was a pro. He knew his job and knew lives depended on him when on guard duty.

  Francis’ appalling rape of a zombie disgusted Casey. He was sexually frustrated like anyone at Alpha, but the thought of raping a deader never, ever cropped into his head. He heard the rumors of guys going nuts and doing it before. It usually resulted in them becoming infected and later executed. He never figured Francis would succumb to such twisted desires.

  Casey sat down on a dusty, old plastic chair and laid his gun across his lap. He stared at the body of the raped and destroyed female zombie. It still lay across the table, blood dripping out of the gunshot wound to its head. Casey thought of the time his mother was raped by drunken conscripts in Freetoria. They had left her beaten and bloodied across a table, not dissimilar from the one Francis’s victim rested. The difference was his mother had survived; this zombie hadn’t.

  Casey coughed and lit a cigarette. He felt the smoke flow deep into his lungs and he slowly exhaled it. He wondered if Francis was infected from the zombie. If so, Drake will surely shoot him. He may even shoot him regardless; nothing infuriated the captain more than a man putting his team at risk.

  Casey finished the cigarette and flicked it into the darkness. As it sailed through the air, he watched it tumble end over end until it hit something moving. Casey jumped up and aimed his weapon at the moving shadow. Then he felt a cold hand across his mouth.

  * * *

  Mifune sti
ll couldn’t sleep. Even battered and bloodied Francis lay on the floor snoring peacefully. He reached into his pocket and took out one of the pills a doctor gave him for his insomnia. He desperately wanted to swallow one to make himself feel at ease and sleep, but if there were an attack, he wouldn’t be at his best. That was a risk he couldn’t take on a mission like this.

  He returned the pills to his pocket, leaned back against the wall, and shut his eyes. It wasn’t long before tiredness and exhaustion finally began to put his restive mind at ease. He felt himself drifting toward sleep. He heard footsteps coming up—multiple ones. He knew Casey was on watch for three more hours before being relieved. He opened his tired eyes and grabbed his rifle. “Drake,” he whispered to his sleeping captain.

  Drake woke immediately, shook his head, and looked at Mifune. Mifune cocked his head in the direction of the stairs. Drake acknowledged him and looked toward Murphy and Francis. Both were fast asleep, out of whispering range.

  Drake and Mifune knelt down and aimed their assault rifles at the incoming shadows. Drake looked through his night-vision scope on his rifle and saw Casey being led up with two men behind him. Nomads? he wondered. Drake and Mifune glanced at each other and each instantly knew the other understood this wasn’t a zombie attack.

  “Halt!” Drake yelled.

  Murphy jumped up out of his sleep, disoriented and confused. He aimed his assault rifle haphazardly until he figured out what was happening. Francis already had a knife in his hand, ready to slug it out.

  “These aren’t deaders,” Casey spoke calmly. “They say they mean us no harm.”

  “Then what the hell do they want?” Drake replied.

  “I don’t know. They want to talk to you.”

  “Then they better let you go.”

  There were several agonizing moments of silence before Casey was freed. He walked toward the others.

  “Where’s your weapon?” Drake whispered to him as Casey knelt down next to his captain.

  “They got it.”

  “Fuck!” Drake whispered. “The thrower is next to me. Put it on.”

  Casey carefully put the flamethrower pack on his back and turned on the blue flame.

  “Ready, sir,” Casey said quietly to Drake.

  The captain cleared his throat and then said, “So what the fuck do you want?” Silence. Drake was through playing. “You have three seconds to speak up before we open fire. One, two…”

  “Stop!” a deep voice echoed throughout the room. “We are not here to fight. We are here to help.” Two figures walked into the faint light created by the still simmering fire. Large incisors pointed out of their mouths. Their skin was pasty, their eyes black as death, and their bodies were bony and gaunt. Yet they appeared to have a powerful strength behind them. It was Vlad and Chosin.

  “We are not of your kind,” Vlad continued. “But we are not of the roaming dead either. We are neither alive nor dead, but I’m afraid like you and your people, we will soon vanish from this Earth unless we win this fight.”

  Mifune knew instantly what they were—vampires. He remembered stories of strange men with incredible strength who attacked civilians and sometimes soldiers on the outskirts of Freetoria as a child. They did not eat them like the deaders, but rather, fed on their blood until the victims were all but drained.

  “You’re vampires,” Mifune said. “You kill our kind.”

  Murphy looked confused, Drake annoyed, Casey amused. Francis hoped for a fight.

  “Yes, we do,” Vlad confirmed. “But we have not fed on your kind in many years. We are dying, as are you.”

  “You’re vampires? Like Dracula?” Murphy said rather stupidly.

  Vlad did not seem annoyed. “Yes, but we call ourselves strigoi. Dracula never existed. I am the first of many. A covenant with the Dark One spread our kind throughout the world. When the beasts—zombies, you call them—arose, and the war began, there were thousands of us. Initially, we were overjoyed. We feasted like mad as the world descended into chaos.” Vlad looked sad. “It wasn’t to last.”

  “You started running out of food,” Drake said.

  Vlad eyed Drake. He could respect this commander. “Yes. When we feed on the beasts, we become ill and die. Our numbers have fallen. We live mostly on the blood of pigs we raise underground in tunnels.”

  “So if we die out, you die out,” Mifune said.

  Vlad inhaled deeply and said in a low, almost embarrassed voice, “Yes.”

  Drake lowered his weapon and his men followed suit. “You were the ones who saved us at the firefight,” said Drake. “Why?”

  “Because I saw an opportunity, a chance to make an overture of alliance with a powerful commander to end this conflict.”

  “I don’t make alliances. I’m just a captain.”

  “You will be more,” Vlad said confidently.

  “How many do you have?”

  “Myself and my top lieutenant Chosin.” Chosin stepped out from behind his master and bowed his pale, bald head.

  “That won’t be enough to change anything,” replied Drake.

  “There are more of us. I didn’t risk bringing them all in. I know your mission. We are here to help you succeed, but there is a traitor amongst your kind.”

  Drake and Mifune stared at Francis for a moment, who shook his head frantically.

  “In this squad?”

  “No.”

  “At Alpha?”

  “I don’t know where.”

  “That doesn’t do us any good.” Drake didn’t wait for a response, but immediately continued, “How do you know about our mission?”

  “We have eyes and ears inside your Alpha base.”

  “Figures. The security there blows.”

  Vlad tilted his head in confusion.

  “Forget it,” Drake said. “So it’s just you two?”

  Chosin and Vlad glanced at each other and then back at Drake.

  “All right. What can you do?”

  Francis was incredulous. “Captain, you don’t really believe this shit? That they’re vampires?”

  In what appeared to be an instant, Chosin raced to Francis, lifted him up by his collar with one arm, and said, “In a world where the dead come back to eat the living, you have a hard time believing we are strigoi?”

  Francis was terrified and shook his head rapidly.

  Chosin gently put him down.

  Drake and his men stood in amazement.

  “I guess that answers what you can do,” Drake said to Vlad.

  Vlad nodded, a near smile on his face. It was an expression Drake hoped to see less often.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was important to Drake the two vampires assimilate themselves into the group and that they obey his orders. Vlad, predictably, refused to take orders from anyone except himself. However, Vlad did agree to integrate himself and Chosin into the squad on the condition that if Vlad disagreed with Drake, he and Chosin would make their own decisions. Drake was a pragmatist and figured he would not get much more out of a thousand-year-old vampire. So the two shook hands on it.

  Thus was the birth of this odd unit of two vampires and five soldiers, their mission: set out and find the zombie training camp, if it existed. Drake couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the utter absurdity of it all.

  Mifune, on the other hand, was less amused. He felt Drake was taking an unwarranted risk, joining forces with two vampires who fed on humans. They were only helping Drake to keep their food supply going. He wanted to discuss this with Drake, yet it was difficult to do so since the two vampires joined the team. He believed the vampires were always listening to what they said and rarely intermingled with the men, making him further distrust them.

  Murphy and Francis were ambivalent about the situation. They were each willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, especially Francis after his confrontation with Chosin. Francis even found himself oddly respecting them now, although in a fearful way.

  Casey was thoroughly amused b
y the peculiar alliance. He grew up hearing stories about vampires from his grandfather as a child and was eager to pick their new allies’ brains on vampirism.

  As the squad marched along a dusty hill on the outskirts of the urban ruins, Casey saw his chance to finally speak to Chosin. He hurried up next to the vampire who towered over Casey’s diminutive frame. “Hi, Chosin.”

  Chosin glanced at him for a moment.

  “Can I ask you some questions?” Casey continued.

  Chosin grunted.

  “What’s it like?”

  “You must whisper,” Chosin said. “Even the dead can hear.”

  Casey lowered his voice. “Okay, sorry, but I just want to say I’m a huge fan.”

  Chosin appeared perplexed. “What I mean is I grew up hearing stories about vampires.”

  “Ah, I see. Myths.”

  “Do you turn into bats to fly?”

  “No.”

  “Do crosses of the original zombie Jesus hurt you?”

  “No. Christian myth.”

  “Christian what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Are you older than Vlad?”

  “No. He is the first.”

  “Is it true about the garlic?”

  “No. I like the smell.”

  “Does blood taste good?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You’re not one of us.”

  “Good point. Do vampires have sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you ejaculate?”

  Chosin glared at Casey.

  “Bad question. Are some vampires gay?”

  “Why? Are you interested?”

  Casey chuckled. “So you do have a sense of humor. When’s the last time you fed on human blood?”

  “I can’t say, but I think I can say when the next time will be.” Chosin locked eyes with Casey.

  “I’ll be back there,” Casey said and then walked to the rear of the formation. Chosin grinned slightly.

  Later, as they rested, Vlad and Drake discussed the direction the group should head in the hope of locating the supposed zombie training camp as quickly as possible. Vlad suggested they pass through the Dead Mountains, a range of small, ancient mountains covered in dirt and soot. Drake agreed it was the most logical place for a deader camp to exist