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Easter01's Father Michael's Saga

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croiduire
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Postcroiduire on Tue Mar 14, 2017 7:02 am

Robert Burns: "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft a-gley."
Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke: "No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force."
Matt Forbeck: "No plan survives contact with reality."
Me: "Oooops..."
Murphy: "Hehehehee!"



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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Tue Mar 14, 2017 8:11 am

lol

Agreed :D



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Thu Mar 16, 2017 2:14 pm


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 11

The demonic shape-shifter in Edouard Leclerc’s form sat on the couch in the living room of the little apartment on the Rue de Bossuet closely studying its fingers. Although the creature had assumed many human forms for tasks given to it by the master, it never ceased to amaze it just how fragile these bodies were. They were so vulnerable to damage, and they were so weak, and their appearance was so repulsive with their pale faces, soft bellies and hair scattered about on their bodies. It was all the shifter could do to control itself while in their presence, when all it really wanted to do was to rend them with the claws it did not possess in this body, to tear their weak bodies apart and howl with the pure joy of destruction.

But the master had forbidden it, so the shifter knew it must control its urges. For now. There was no resisting the spell that had brought it to this world. The power of the pentagram bound it more securely to the master’s will than any chains. It had been required to study the operations of the Directorate, to make note of their strength and the disposition of their agents, and to report back at regular intervals. It uttered a low growl, frustrated. Many years ago, as this world measured time, the shifter had first been summoned, unwilling, from the Underworld, where it had been just about to consume a lesser demon. Pulled forcibly through the barrier separating the two worlds and deposited within the pentagram, it had stalked back and forth within the lines of the diagram, raging, seeking a way to escape and attack the shadowy figure that lurked just without.

“Do you accept your bondage?” the mysterious figure asked, a warlock beyond doubt, for who else among these puny humans would have the power to set such a trap.

It snarled in reply.

“Accept your bondage, or be destroyed,” the figure repeated.

It snarled again, but with less intensity, and then bowed its head in acquiescence. The warlock spoke a few words, and it felt the shackles of the spell descend upon its body. The shifter grunted involuntarily, feeling it snap into place. Its captor walked forward to the edge of the pentagram, and scuffed the toe of his shoe across one of the lines, smearing it and breaking the power of the pentagram to hold it imprisoned.

The shape-shifter stepped out of the diagram and stopped before the man who had captured it, flexing its claws but making no move upon him. The human was dressed in a strange garment, which it later learned was called a “business suit,” with a cloth of some kind knotted around his neck. It did not look comfortable. The hair upon its head (disgusting!) was jet black in color, and slicked back from his face. At the time the shifter had no way to judge the age of humans; having never seen one before it had no basis of comparison. It must be an adult specimen, for it was strong in occult power.

“What do you wish me to do?” the shifter asked, in a voice like the buzzing of wasps, and then added, rather insolently, “Master.”

The warlock in the business suit extended a hand, and the shifter was lashed with wave after wave of pain, bringing it to its knees. “Do not doubt that I can destroy you at any time!” the human snapped. The creature nodded, now thoroughly cowed by the power of this human.  

Klaus Dortmund inspected the creature he had snared. The shape-shifters were rare in the Underworld, and it had taken him many weeks to craft a spell that would locate and capture the exact type he needed. The thing was difficult to look at in its natural form, because it had no definite shape but continued to change size, shape and coloration before his eyes, an involuntary process that blurred its figure.

“Look at this,” Dortmund ordered, holding a color photograph in front of the creature, assuming that it actually had eyes. “I want you to assume this man’s identity. I will give you instructions as to how to find him. You will first need to absorb another human so that you can travel freely in this world without drawing attention to yourself. I will provide you with one.”

“What am I to do…Master…when I have become this human?” The shifter adopted a more humble tone, now.

“He is an enemy. I want you to learn about his organization, and use that information to destroy it.”

That had been the first task, the first of many to come, given to him by the master. The master had been as good as his word, and had fed him immediately, leading him to a human shackled in a dark room. How it had thrilled to the ecstasy of absorbing the feeble mortal, and taking his shape. The target he had been given was a powerful noble, who ruled a kingdom, or “corporation,” called Internationale Hydrauliksysteme in a place known as Hamburg. Once he had absorbed the human given to him by warlock Dortmund, the shifter was equipped with the knowledge possessed by that person and so knew how to blend in with other humans, how to travel from one place to another without drawing attention. Assuming the place of the rival corporation’s ruler, a Gerhardt Weber, on the instructions of the master it had made decisions and implemented policies that led to the financial ruin of that company, which was then captured by his master’s corporation and added to his possessions.

It still did not have a clear understanding of human behavior, for possession of memories and knowledge did not necessarily impart the ability to know how humans think, but it had learned much in these last years.

The master’s corporation was a formidable entity called Dortmund Power & Automation Group and, although the company made its home in London, it possessed a vast web of tentacles stretching throughout this world. The master and his corporation was in a constant state of warfare against other corporations, and each one defeated, whether or not added to Dortmund’s holdings, only served to increase the reach and power of his empire. The shifter was not the first creature brought from the Underworld to serve as a weapon in this war, but in its endless adaptability had quickly become the master’s favorite tool. The master had been relying upon the supernaturals of this world, dead things like vampires and shape-shifters of limited capabilities such as werewolves, but once he learned to tap into the Underworld, master had come to prefer demonic servants. The supernaturals could be dangerous, but as a whole were less versatile than demons. Soon the master’s cadre of servants would swell as he brought across many more demons, of many different kinds, to serve him.

It was the only shape-shifter in this army, for the master had been unable to locate another of his kind, and this suited it well, for the master had become very dependent upon its services. To its own surprise, it soon found that it enjoyed being in this world filled with tasty human victims, and was no longer in a hurry to return to the Underworld. These corporate games were every bit as predatory and ruthless as the conflicts in its own universe, and it found considerable satisfaction in manipulating humans into their own destruction. The Underworld no longer seemed a desirable place to reside, being a barren wasteland filled with danger everywhere, a site of constant warfare between demons who had little to eat except each other and thus entirely filled with the most ferocious survivors. Humans called it the Underworld, but it was not really “under” anything but a separate universe that paralleled this one, overlapping in time and space.

In recent months the master had been enraged to discover that many of his schemes were being countered by agents of another group, known as Directorate 14, that employed many supernatural beings that were native to this world. So it had been sent to infiltrate the offices of this Directorate to report on the activities of the organization, to discover who its agents were, what abilities they possessed, and where they might be currently stationed. It appeared, from what it had been able to discover, that the Directorate was as yet unaware of the existence of his master and his demon servants, and had disrupted the master’s plans as an accidental consequence of other activities.  

The master had been very pleased to learn about the female human in the London city who was creating zombies. A tingle in the aether had alerted another supernatural in the city when she had made her first zombie. The very strange spirit known as Baron Samedi had aided her with this, but had lost interest after the first reanimation. Master had sent one of his special demons, one strong in magic, to this London place to assist her, without her knowledge of the change, and to subtly twist her mind. The shifter was not particularly impressed by zombies, dead things who had no special powers of any kind and, aside from being able to take a lot of punishment were not particularly strong, but the master thought that they would make good footsoldiers in his army, and quite disposable at need. The female human had no idea that she was building an army for the master.

At that moment there was a soft < pop > and a tiny winged demon, no more than a dozen centimeters in height, materialized on the low table before him. He knew this particular demon well. It was the means of communication that had been arranged by his master, facilitated by its ability to teleport instantaneously over short or long distances. Despite its small size, it was a very successful resident of the Underworld, scavenging the remains of other demon’s feasts and able to instantly flit away to escape any danger. It detested the little creature, but could not deny that it was very useful in these circumstances. He had much to report.

It flew up on its tiny wings and hung buzzing before the shifter’s face. “Master wishes to know what you have learned,” it piped. He swatted irritably at it, but it only disappeared and reappeared a short distance away, smirking.

“There were three humans in the Director’s office today,” it informed the winged demon. “They were sent to London to investigate the reports of zombies, and are probably there by now.”

“Master will be angry! These humans must not be allowed to interfere!” it shrilled.

“Two of them were shape-shifters, but not like me. I could sense it in them, but I do not know what kind they are.”

Agitated, the little demon flew around the room. When the master was not in a good mood, he tended to take it out on his underlings, an experience that was usually very painful.

Secretly amused that the winged creature would no doubt take the brunt of the master’s wrath, the shifter rather gleefully informed it that the zombies were not being produced very fast. “You might suggest to master that a way should be found to provide the human female with a greater supply of bodies.”

The messenger demon looked positively alarmed at the prospect of telling the master what he should do, but with another faint pop vanished from the room.


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 12
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Last edited by Easter01 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 6:04 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 5:05 am

Poor little demon... :(

...the little demon needs to take a hint from Dobby, hehehehe



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 11:24 am

loveflower

croi, you made my day with all your wonderful comments.
They offer so much thought. I truly appreciate them.

suzanne and sam, you are the best ever! Big, Big Hugs.

Thank everyone for reading my Father Michael story that came
from a single photo from anidup's house challenge last year. A tiny
spark can come from anywhere, or at any moment. It's exciting.

Extra big hugs to tilly and anidup for letting me share my stories on cbs.

Easter01

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Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 5:45 pm

watermelon watermelon How much longer before we get a new chapter watermelon watermelon runcircle giggle I can't wait.. summerB7


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 5:52 pm

Hi Sam,

I'm getting ready to post the next chapter now. YAY!!

Easter01

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 5:52 pm

Omgosh, Omgosh runcircle so this is going to be a new chapter ymd


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 6:01 pm


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 12

Holding a 250-milliliter glass laboratory beaker filled with human blood, Marie Rose approached the body on the operating table in her secret underground facility. A sheet was draped loosely over the nude body of the man on the table, pulled down to expose only the upper torso. A one-liter bag of type O-negative blood, the universal donor, hung from a nearby pole and ran through a plastic tube into his arm, flushing the old blood out through a larger tube inserted in the big vein in the thigh.

The cadaver was a young man in his mid-twenties, although the lifestyle he had chosen had given him the appearance of a much older man. His hair was shoulder-length, unwashed and greasy, and he was thin almost to the point of skeletal from malnutrition. She set the beaker down on the stainless steel table beside him and consulted the clipboard hanging at the head of the table to refresh her memory. Daryl Brown, age twenty-four, died from a heroin overdose. Although the corpse was fresh, only three days old, it was certainly not an ideal specimen, but it had been getting more and more difficult to obtain the corpses she needed from the hospital. This might well be the last one for some time, because after the Mortality Committee meeting, Walter had instigated much more rigorous security procedures. She had no idea yet as to how she was going to get more bodies.

She had broken so many laws that if she were ever brought to an accounting, she rather imagined she would be locked away for the rest of her life. Theft, certainly. She had plundered the hospital for all manner of medical supplies, and when that had become too risky, sent her undead creations on raiding parties to steal what she needed from medical and industrial supply storehouses in the city, although she had been reluctant to send them too far afield, lest they become confused and lost. She had pilfered refrigerated blood from the hospital blood bank. The old bokor had not specified the source of the blood she would need for the ritual, and she was not about to carry out animal or human sacrifices. She had stolen bodies, lots of bodies. Was there even a law against the theft of a corpse? She thought there must be, but technically she was not a grave robber since none of the cadavers had ever been buried. Certainly there was no law in the United Kingdom against making zombies, although the Haitian criminal code specifically prohibited their creation. Oh, there was no doubt, she was quite a hardened criminal, all right.  

She had come to dread the ritual, the possession of her body by the loa. The Baron was described by the Haitians as having the boney face of a skull, wearing sunglasses and an old-fashioned top hat, and dressed in a black tail coat. Overall, the Baron resembled a corpse dressed and prepared for burial in the Haitian style. She did not know if this was true, for she had never actually seen him, only felt the presence of his spirit. Tradition held that this powerful loa of the dead would dig the grave for the deceased and then lead them to the underworld, but he was also the giver of life, capable of restoring anyone to perfect health if he deemed them worthy of his attention. Her people believed that the power of the Baron, and of all of the loa, came from God, whom they referred to as Bondye, a Haitian rendition of the French phrase, bon dieu, or “good God.”

At the top of the table, carefully placed on either side of Brown’s head, was a crystal glass filled with rum, and a glass ashtray containing an unsmoked cigar. These would be used in the reanimation ritual, offerings to attract the attention of the lord of the dead, Baron Samedi. Next to the glass of spirits was an empty rum bottle, ready to hold the captured soul of the corpse. On top of the sheet between the feet of the corpse were additional gifts for the loa, a new black top hat and a pair of Rayban sunglasses. On a shelf along the back wall, a CD player was plugged in with a waiting disc inside. Everything was ready.

The very first time she had performed the ritual to create a zombie, Marie Rose had thought herself ready for anything, but she had not been prepared for the reality of having her body possessed by a spirit. She had nearly collapsed with the shock as she lost control of her own body. The touch of the Baron had chilled her very soul, but at the same time filled her with an exhilaration, almost a sense of joy, as the astral power flowed into and through her to the body on the table. At the end, she had slumped unconscious to the floor as the loa departed, and awoke to find John Tanner sitting upright and motionless on the table, placidly awaiting his first command.

The experience had never been quite the same after that first reanimation. She had felt the chill of the spirit, each time, but never again that same feeling of exhilaration. Something was different, something she never could quite identify…but as long as the process continued to work, perhaps it did not matter.

She had been at odds with Imasu, her brother-in-law, ever since her return from Haiti. At first Imasu had been strongly supportive of her efforts to bring his brother back using medical and scientific technology, but as the months had fled by he had gradually lost faith and hope. He no longer believed Ayuba could be returned to life. Imasu had been appalled by her venture into the dark magic of the island, and after a bitter argument in which he had urged her to give up the quest, had declared his intention to have no more to do with the project. It was only with great reluctance that he allowed himself to be persuaded to, at least, service and maintain the equipment that maintained his brother’s body in its frozen state of preservation.

It was time to begin. Marie Rose, clad in a long black dress to please the loa, walked over to the shelf and flipped the switch on the CD player. The sound of drumbeats filled the space, a slow and sensual African rhythm that worked its way deeply into the subconscious. Falling into the ritual, she walked with measured steps timed to the beat to stand before the table. She picked up a syringe, filled with a cocktail of stimulant drugs, and plunged it into the chest of the corpse, directly into the heart. Next she took the beaker of fresh blood in her left hand, and dipped the forefinger of her right into the thick, scarlet pool. With careful strokes, she began to draw on the bared chest of the body, and slowly the intricate veve, or symbol of the Baron, began to develop. When it was complete, she placed the beaker back down on the table and picked up a scalpel. With one slight stroke, she drew the sharp blade across the palm of her hand, and let the blood drip, drip, drip onto the corpse. A small amount of her own blood was necessary to link the reanimated corpse to her will.

She now raised her hands up into the air and began to chant, calling for the attention of Baron Samedi. Over and over, she repeated the same phrase, her voice rising even as the beat of the drums swelled in power.

High above, in the dark recesses of the ceiling, a demon clung invisibly to the brickwork and sent its power into Marie Rose. Fool human, it thought, so presumptuous to imagine that the spirits would rise to her every beck and call and do her bidding. The loa did as they pleased, and the Baron was finished with this woman.

Marie Rose jerked as the power coursed through her. Her eyes lost all focus and she stared unseeing into space, dropping her hands down onto the body. Perspiration beaded on her forehead as the demon roughly forced its magic into her body and channeled it into the corpse. At last her beleaguered body could withstand no more, and she dropped in a faint to the floor.

When she awoke and wearily stood, the young man was sitting up on the table. At the top of the table, the glass of rum was now half empty, and a curl of smoke rose from the cigar. The empty rum bottle was now capped and filled with a swirling mist. She shook her head to clear her mind, and, now the complete professional, began to examine her subject. In mere moments she knew that success had eluded her yet again. She had only created another zombie.

Another failure. She had tried everything in her power to restore true life to the dead. She had carefully repaired their injuries, when needed, experimented with every possible drug combination, flushed out the old dead blood and replaced it with fresh. She had taken a page from the book of the mythical Victor Frankenstein and tried running electrical current into the bodies. She had even tried experimenting, carefully, with radiation. Nothing had worked. The dead men she reanimated possessed a semblance of life, but it was false; they were still dead, still lacking that undefinable, vital, spark.

She turned away from the new zombie and went to her desk at the side of the room and slumped into her chair, filled with despair. She closed her eyes and let her head drop to her chest. The tears fell silently. She did not know how she would ever be able to obtain another body, with St. Bartholomew’s morgue now too risky to approach. She did not know if she would ever find a way to bring her precious husband back.

At last she looked up, and saw the latest zombie still sitting on the table. With an exhausted sigh, she rose and went to a cabinet to get it some clothing, and bade it to dress itself. When it had awkwardly pulled on the Levi jeans and cotton work shirt, she knelt and slipped shoes onto each of its pale feet and tied them. She then ordered it to go and stand along the back wall with the other zombies. Dispassionately, she watched the creature do as it was told.

This was zombie number twenty-three. Twenty-three failures. She sighed again, and looked down at her bloody hands. She needed to clean up and go home. It was late, and tomorrow would be a long day at the hospital.

When she left, she flipped off the light switch, more by habit than need. The line of zombies stood silently in the darkness, needing nothing, caring for nothing. They were all dead men.

The fourth zombie from the left had been known, in life, as John Tanner. Beneath the skin of his right arm, an RFID transmitter beamed out its signal.


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 13
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Last edited by Easter01 on Sun Mar 19, 2017 6:21 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Fri Mar 17, 2017 6:12 pm

watermelon watermelon love it, love it watermelon watermelon :goldstars: thank you so much Joanne ymd


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Sat Mar 18, 2017 12:44 am

I almost used Zombifying today, Joanne, over on the "ing" game, heheheheheh

...I did not want to detract from your zombie story, though <3



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Sun Mar 19, 2017 6:20 pm


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 13

“Bloody *&#*!” Inspector Ian Mackenzie swore, pounding the dashboard. “We’ve lost the signal! It must have gone underground!” He was seated in the front passenger seat of an unmarked police car, a nondescript dark-colored sedan; Michael was at the wheel with his two French companions in the back seat. The Inspector was holding the radio receiver that registered the location of the radio frequency identification (RFID) transmitter they had injected into John Tanner before turning him loose, staring at the display in frustration. He turned his head to glare at the priest. “I told you chaps this was a bad idea!”

It was a little after two o’clock in the morning, and the streets were empty. They had chosen the time carefully, long after the pubs and most clubs had closed, to minimize the number of civilians that might come into contact with the zombie on the streets. They were in the Whitechapel district in the City’s East End, an area which had become notorious during the late nineteenth century as the stalking ground in which Jack the Ripper had hunted down his female victims but today was largely gentrified and had become something of a cultural center. It was also the district in which the medical supply house ransacked by the zombie raiding crew was located. It had seemed like the most logical place to turn their captive loose and track him down as he returned to his lair.

The plan had worked perfectly, up to a point. There had been no trouble in releasing the zombie. Unlike his violent struggles when first captured, the creature had become completely passive and offered no resistance at all when redressed in his original clothing (minus a few small patches that had been cut out for forensic analysis), the RFID chip implanted in his arm, and loaded into a secure police van for transportation. It had been as simple as driving to the alley behind the supply house, opening the door of the van, and pushing him out. They had tailed the zombie in the Inspector’s car from a few hundred yards back, creeping through the darkened streets in its wake, with another car following for backup. The signal from the chip came in clear and strong for about fifteen minutes as the creature led them slowly westward, and then, to the Inspector’s obvious consternation, began to weaken and gradually disappeared altogether.

He stopped the car in the vicinity of the zombie’s last known location, and addressed Michael. “Well, this has turned into a regular dog’s dinner! We’ve lost our prisoner! What do you propose we do now?”

“Not to worry, Inspector,” Michael reassured him. “We’re actually rather good at tracking. We’ll take it from here.”

Mackenzie looked far from pacified. “He’s probably gone down into the Underground. We could still pick up the signal if Tanner had just gone into a building. There’s no tube station in this neighborhood, but there are a lot of old access points that don’t show up on the maps today, a lot of abandoned tunnels under the city. Some of them were used as bomb shelters during the Blitz.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find. We’ll want to look for a concrete structure, something like a public toilet.”

“Inspector, I think it best if we make the approach by ourselves. Stealth is what we need now, to follow this creature underground. Too many people would just make too much noise. I would appreciate it, though, if you would have some of your men on standby, in case we need them.”

Mackenzie nodded, trying not to show his relief at being spared the prospect of stumbling onto a horde of zombies in a confined space. “Right, then! Whatever you chaps think best. You’re the experts on these things, after all.” He reached over to the glovebox and pulled out a police radio. “You’ll want this, I expect. Use channel 2.”

Michael took the radio and thanked him, and then asked for the RFID receiver. “This might also be useful. We might not be able to get a signal up here, but might be able to pick him up once we’re down on the same level.”

He turned to his friends in the back seat. "Mes amis, are you ready? We should not dally before we pursue, lest this thing get too much of a lead and escape us.”

Marcel grinned in the dim light of the compartment, and there was a sharp metallic sound as he cocked his shotgun. “Locked and loaded, monsieur! We ‘ave refilled the shells with rock salt, as mon petit chaton suggested.”

Michael turned back to Mackenzie. “Then we’ll be on our way, Inspector. Our thanks for your help.”

Mackenzie nodded. “I don’t envy you lot. Be careful down there. We’ll be here if you need us. Off you go, then.” He watched as they opened their doors and stepped out, donning their backpacks and working their shoulders to adjust the burden to more comfortable positions. Michael reached back into the back seat and took out a cloth-wrapped bundle, which he proceeded to unwrap. The Inspector’s eyes widened as the contents were revealed. Was that a bloody sword? These Directorate people were an odd lot, no doubt about it. As the priest slipped the sword into a scabbard poised between his shoulder blades so that the hilt stuck out for easy access, Mackenzie shook his head in disbelief and keyed the radio mike in his car to inform his men about the change in plans.

As Mackenzie had predicted, it did not take long at all to find the old abandoned entrance to the subway system. They knew it had to be very close, because this was the place where they had lost the transmitter signal, and so as soon as they turned a street corner, it was immediately obvious where the old entrance was located. There on the corner was a circular concrete structure set inside a low brick wall. The building was about ten meters in diameter and about half that in height with a flat roof, peeling paint gleaming dimly under the streetlights. Centered in the front was a pair of stout metal doors with a heavy padlock dangling loose from the hasp. One door was cracked open a few centimeters.

Marcel took hold of the handle and carefully pulled it open far enough to peer inside. The interior was in complete darkness. The Frenchman went to Simone and extracted a heavy-duty flashlight from the backpack that she, like all of them, wore to carry weapons and supplies. He shined the light about the interior and when he reported that the inside was clear of any immediate threat they entered, pulling the door to behind them.

The interior was littered with rubbish and old gin and wine bottles, showing that the site was a favored refuge for some of the city’s itinerant population. At the rear was a dark opening in the floor, with a handrail about it, the entry point for the spiral staircase that led deep into the earth beneath the city. The opening breathed damp, musty air into their faces as they came to the brink and looked below.

Michael consulted the receiver in his hand. No trace of the RFID signal, but then he had not expected to see one. He made sure that the police radio in his pocket was turned off; it would not do for it to burst forth in a crackle of static and chatter when what they needed was a silent approach. Each donned an LED headlamp, taken from their packs, that would leave their hands free. He reached behind his head and drew Tizona, but as the sword would be virtually useless in the close confines of the spiral stairway, he motioned for Marcel to take the lead. Hoisting his shotgun, a sawed-off 10-gauge Remington SP-10 semi-automatic, very good for close-in work, Marcel started down the stairs, followed by Simone who carried a similar but lighter-weight Browning Auto-5.

Carefully they descended the winding stairs, all senses on high alert, one hundred twenty steps down to the level of the old subway tunnels nearly thirty meters below the city. When they reached the bottom, they automatically spread out, silently watching and listening carefully. There was still no signal on the receiver, but this was as expected, since even the gradual curving of the subway tunnel would serve to interpose earth and rock between them and their quarry and thus block transmission. When there was no sign of zombies or any other presence, the three warriors relaxed slightly and shrugged off their backpacks, dropping them to the floor. Marcel and Simone handed their shotguns to Father Michael, who put them inside his own backpack and then put it on again.

“Remember, this is not a combat mission,” he cautioned them quietly. “We are scouting tonight, to see where this zombie has holed up, and just how many friends he has.”

Michael’s two French companions silently acknowledged his instructions, and began to strip off their clothing as he politely averted his gaze. “Wherever ‘e has gone, we will find heem,” Simone said softly. In a matter of mere moments, two lithe and deadly black panthers crouched in their place, ready to begin the hunt. Michael looked left and right; the tunnel stretched into blackness beyond his light in both directions away; which way to go? The big cats lifted their heads to scent the musty air in the corridor, and then the male turned to Michael and made a very unpanther-like nod of his head. They had the scent. “Be careful,” Michael said, “and stay off the third rail.” As silent as two black shadows, they glided down the subway tunnel. Michael picked up Marcel’s backpack and, with sword in hand, strode off down the passage behind them, covering their rear.

As his feline companions padded ahead, Michael could see by the light of his headlamp the steel rails of the subway stretching off into the distance. This part of the tunnel was an old station, and on the platform opposite the tracks, the floor was lined with rows of empty metal bedframes, from which the mattresses had long ago been removed. The walls were covered with ceramic tiles, and hung with ancient posters and placards, yellowed with age. Dust-covered cobwebs hung everywhere, and the dust was thick on the floor, undisturbed except for a well-trodden pathway that had no doubt been made recently by the zombies as they moved between their lair and the surface. As he followed his friends, the character of the cylindrical tunnel changed. The platform ended and the corridor shrank in size, sufficient only to hold a rail car, and the ceramic tiles were replaced by plain brick. He stepped down off of the platform and walked between the rails. There was no power here, but as he had cautioned his friends, he still was careful not to step on the third rail, just in case.

Michael had not taken more than a hundred paces before he caught up with the panther pair, who were sitting just before a large pile of rubble where the ceiling of the tunnel had collapsed at some time in the past. Although their vision was very good in low light, even a cat cannot see in total darkness so they had not been able to advance too far beyond the reach of his headlamp. The rubble pile nearly blocked the tunnel completely, except for a notch near the ceiling where the debris had been pulled away to create an opening, about two meters square, that led through to the other side. A relatively smooth pathway had also been cleared up the rubble slope to the gap. On his approach, the panthers swiveled their heads to look at him, and then rose to their feet and moved up the trail and through the opening to the other side. Michael followed, and when he reached the top he could feel a very slight breeze in his face, and his nostrils flared as he picked up a faint scent of decay. He paused momentarily, and then descended the pathway to the bottom, where his feline friends waited for him.

He checked the receiver again, and saw that it was now picking up the signal from the chip implanted in John Tanner. “No more than a hundred meters, straight ahead,” he informed his companions in a voice barely above a whisper. One stealthy step at a time, they slipped down the tunnel, the light from Michael’s headlamp casting long feline shadows far ahead. If anyone was at the other end, the light would alert them of their approach, but there was no help for it.

Far ahead, in the gloom of the zombie chamber, the demon clinging to the ceiling stirred, its enhanced senses warning it of the approach of intruders. It opened its mouth in a silent snarl and dropped to the floor, landing lightly. It had more than enough strength and power to utterly destroy these invaders, but it had orders not to let itself be seen unless there was no possible alternative. It strode over to the wall that the male black human had built across the passageway to create a laboratory enclosure, and stood next to the door, mouth agape displaying long yellow fangs.

The three agents now came up to the doorway in the wall, which was closed and secured with a strong lock. There was a thin line of very faint light seeping out from under the door. Michael swept his headlamp light across the barrier, side to side and top to bottom. It was built of brick and, from the appearance of the mortar in the joints, had been recently constructed, probably of loose brick scavenged from the rubble pile further back in the tunnel. The door was heavy gauge metal and would not easily be forced. Possibly the lock could be blown apart with a shotgun blast, but it would not be prudent to do so until they knew what they were facing.

Michael shrugged out of his backpack and set it and his sword on the floor. He opened it and pulled out the clothing that Marcel and Simone had removed before assuming their panther forms a short while ago. They would now be more useful in human shape; their heightened feline senses were no longer needed now that their quarry had been located. He picked Tizona up and stood guard before the door while they transformed, gripping the sword tightly with both hands, the razor-sharp blade upright and ready. In moments they had dressed silently, and dug into Michael’s backpack to extract their shotguns, holding them at the ready as they moved into position on each side of the door, taking up guard while their friend was otherwise occupied.

The priest knelt before the door and reached into the backpack, felt around, and pulled out a tablet computer and a length of fiber optic cable. With the Inspector’s approval, he had borrowed a little technology from Scotland Yard, not knowing what sort of hideaway the zombies were using or the circumstances they might confront. He plugged the cable into the tablet and switched it on, waiting silently until the little screen glowed with blue light and displayed a number of icons.

On the other side of the door, only inches away, the demon crouched, talons digging silently into the surface.

Michael selected an icon, and shortly the screen filled with an infrared image showing the bottom of the door, the direction in which the miniature camera at the end of the cable was currently aimed. He took hold of the cable near its end and began to feed it under the door, one centimeter at a time, until finally the tiny lense protruded out the other side and gave them a picture of the hidden chamber.

The demon sensed something coming under the door and eased off to the side. It did not know what was being pushed through, but assumed that it was some sort of spy, perhaps an even smaller version of the tiny winged demons of his own world, capable of slipping through a tiny crack. If the waiting demon was discovered, then it would be a simple matter to crush the life out of the intruder.

Michael had a good view of the interior. It appeared to be some sort of laboratory. Straight ahead was a steel table on wheels, and behind that were counters covered with various types of equipment and devices, whose tiny lights provided the only illumination in the room. Above the counters were cabinets. He twisted the cable to swing the camera to the right. On this side, there were four large stainless steel boxes, covered with dials and plumbing fixtures. Each was large enough to hold a body, he noted. Above these units was a long shelf on which was, oddly enough, a row of empty bottles. There was not enough light to read the labels, but they looked like whiskey or gin bottles. Now he rolled the cable to gain a view of the other side of the chamber.

"Dios mio!” he whispered, scarcely audible. There against the wall was a long line of men, standing motionless with their eyes open but unseeing, all dressed identically in denim trousers and long-sleeved shirts. The row extended to the left out of sight of the camera, but he could count more than twenty in his line of vision.

Michael looked up at Marcel and Simone, and shook his head. From his expression, they could tell that something was seriously amiss. Slowly and carefully he retrieved the probe from beneath the door, coiled it up and put it back into the pack, followed by the tablet. He picked up his sword and backpack and stood up, then hooked a thumb to indicate they should retreat back down the tunnel. The three Directorate agents carefully backed away from the door and retraced their steps toward the exit, all the while looking back over their shoulders.

Inside the chamber, the demon relaxed and began planning. The master would need to be informed that the zombie factory had been discovered. It was sure that the Directorate agents would soon return, but they would walk into a trap.

The trio soon reached the bottom of the spiral stairway, retrieved Simone’s backpack, and returned to the surface. Once they were outside the circular building, Michael quickly filled them in on what he had seen. “At least a couple of dozen,” he finished.

*&^%#….” Marcel breathed. “That is too many!”

“We’re going to need help, and quickly. That lab appears to be set up for zombie production.” Michael shouldered his sword and the three warriors walked around the corner to the waiting police car.






THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 14
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Last edited by Easter01 on Wed Mar 22, 2017 9:29 pm; edited 1 time in total




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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Sun Mar 19, 2017 8:29 pm

I remember this a scared nail bitter and white knuckle on the mouse with this one lol..

I love it..

Thank you Joanne.. happybounce


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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Postszanne7000 on Mon Mar 20, 2017 6:23 am

Agreed, Sam :D



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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PostEaster01 on Wed Mar 22, 2017 9:28 pm

THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 14

The Leclerc demon was sitting in the living room of the apartment eating the last slice of pepperoni pizza out of a box on the coffee table. This human body needed to be fed at regular intervals. Most of the food in this world tasted very strange, but this thing called pizza was very pleasing to the taste. He had ordered it earlier in the evening and had slowly eaten it, one piece at a time, blissfully savoring the delightful flavors. When it had been delivered, shortly before midnight, he had been filled with a savage desire to drag the delivery boy in and eat him too, but instead had simply smiled and had given him a few pieces of the colored paper humans called “money.”

This was a very strange world, where the denizens exchanged items peacefully, rather than the stronger simply taking what they desired from the weak. If a way could be found through from his universe, it would be an easy matter to take this world away from the humans. But no such gateway had ever been discovered. The only way a demon could enter this universe was to be summoned by a spell that had the power to create a breach through space and time.

The shifter was chewing on one of the last remaining bites of the last piece, its eyes closed in sheer pleasure, when its reverie was interrupted by a ~pop~ as the cursed messenger demon again materialized before him. Irritated beyond measure, he swallowed and glared balefully at the winged little creature, and set the crust back down in the box, wanting to save it until after this nuisance had departed.

The little demon immediately pounced on the pizza crust and darted back out of reach, hovering in a corner of the room while it stuffed the entire crust into its mouth. Leclerc-demon leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “Give your message and be gone,” it hissed between clenched teeth.

The messenger belched and swooped back down, but carefully remained out of reach. “Events are moving rapidly,” it said, hovering. “Master says do not be concerned about the Directorate agents now in London. Arrangements are being made to deal with them. It is time, master says, to move to the action phase. You are to provide him with the locations of all of the Directorate agents on assignment.”

The shifter reached into his pocket and pulled out a small computer storage device, a flash drive, and flung it at the messenger demon, who snatched it out of the air with its claws. “All the information master wishes is on that device,” the shifter hissed. “It is current as of yesterday. Does master have any additional orders for me?”

The messenger bobbed up and down in the air. “Be vigilant, he says. Notify if any changes in the disposition of agents, or any other thing you deem worthy of his attention.” With that, the little flying irritant disappeared.

So, the shifter mused. The time had finally come. The Directorate would be neutralized, and no longer able to interfere with master.

He peered hopefully into the empty pizza box, but there was no more pizza inside.


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 15
coming soon




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

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Postszanne7000 on Fri Mar 24, 2017 2:41 am

Pizza...

...LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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PostSamantha61 on Fri Mar 24, 2017 5:13 am

watermelon watermelon :goldstars: watermelon watermelon


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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PostEaster01 on Sat Mar 25, 2017 6:28 pm


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 15

Just after sunset on the following day, the assault on the zombie lair began, a joint operation between the Metropolitan Police service and the three agents of Interpol’s Directorate 14. Michael and his companions had hoped to launch the attack much sooner, but it had taken the better part of the day to arrange for all the necessary permissions, with communications flying back and forth between London and Lyon. Detective Inspector Mackenzie had been very helpful in facilitating the necessary paperwork, but he would not be participating in the actual assault; instead, two three-man teams from the highly trained Specialist Crime and Operations Specialist Firearms Command, would be supporting Interpol’s agents. The CO19 teams, as they were known, were the British equivalent of American SWAT teams. Michael knew that heavily armed personnel and military tactics would be needed to overcome the zombie army.

The CO19 officers had been discreetly briefed as to the nature of the threat they faced, and the necessity to maintain operational secrecy both before and after the deployment. The general consensus of the men was that these Interpol blokes were entirely daft, but the officers were very good at following orders. The rules of engagement were brief but simple, and completely contrary to anything that had ever been allowed before in the city of London. The use of deadly force was authorized to defend themselves against attacks or the threat of attack. The assault force would be targeting a group of about two dozen individuals who were considered to be extremely dangerous. They had been described as being unnaturally strong, perhaps hopped up on drugs, and recently a group of only three felons had been responsible for putting five officers in the hospital, some with rather serious injuries. There was no mention of the hostiles being armed, which was rather puzzling given the authorization to use their own weapons.

They rode to the Whitechapel district in three black mid-size sports utility vehicles, series 5 BMWs, each clutching a sawed-off shotgun; another unsettling departure from standard practice, since they were usually deployed with semi-automatic Heckler & Koch MP5s or SIG 516s. Even stranger, only one man on each team would have buckshot loads. The shells of the other shotguns were loaded with rock salt, of all things. The whole affair felt like a right proper cock-up in the making, that was for sure. At least they were still allowed to carry their proper sidearms, 9 millimeter Glock-17s. Each man was also wearing a black Kevlar vest, helmet and goggles.

The three BMWs screeched to a halt together, immediately in front of the old subway access building, and the men scrambled out. Michael, Marcel and Simone got out of the lead vehicle and went around to the boot to load up with ordnance from the duffles stowed inside. The two French agents had their usual shotguns, with bandoliers of shells slung across their chests, but also had machetes, honed to razor sharpness, hanging from their belts. Michael, dressed in a loose and lightweight cassock secured by a belt at the waist, also had a shotgun on his back on a sling, his new dagger in a belt case, and Tizona riding in her usual spot between his shoulders, ready for instant use.

The CO19 team members were checking their firearms yet again, and adjusting their gear. One team member nudged another and cocked his head at Father Michael. “Blimey!” he muttered. “It’s dodgy enough we’ve got a priest along on this op, but is that a bleedin’ sword on his back?”

His companion rolled his eyes and replied, sarcastically, “Aye, we’re going dragon hunting, mate, haven’t you heard?” His friend merely snorted derisively and returned his attention to his weapon.

Michael put two fingers in his mouth and whistled for their attention. When all eyes had turned his way, he began speaking. “You have all been briefed, but I want to emphasize that the men we will be going up against are not like anything you have ever faced before. They have almost inhuman strength, and will not hesitate to kill you. In their condition, they are also very difficult to put down.” He very carefully did not use the word, zombie. These men were already uneasy because of the deviations from standard operating procedure already introduced. To suggest that they were about to face something supernatural would weaken his credibility and authority and detract from their ability to function effectively. No one wants to think they are being led by a crazy man. “Nor do they feel pain as you and I do. The best approach will be, that if resistance is offered, do not hesitate to use your weapon. Also, keep in mind that there may be hostages, so be sure of your targets. Let’s go!” He unslung the shotgun from his back and held it in his right hand.

As on the previous day, the Directorate team led the way down the spiral staircase, weapons at the ready, and then spread out at the bottom of the stairs to keep watch as the rest of the team came down. The six CO19 men hit the subway floor and ran out to each side, left and right, forming up into their teams again, weapons up, safeties off, alert and focused. Michael and his two companions took the lead down the tunnel, signaling the police teams to follow.

In the zombie chamber, the demon stood before the closed door and hissed, “They come.” He was no longer the only demon present. The master had insisted on the destruction of the Directorate agents and sent a reinforcement, a deadly spike demon. Two meters tall and bristling with razor-edged spikes from head to toe, the spike demon’s method of combat was simply to seize its quarry and then shake itself vigorously, shredding its prey into bloody slices. The spike demon was now hidden outside the chamber, along with half of the zombies. The trap had been laid perfectly.

The demon in the chamber turned to the wall, and laid its clawed hands against the brickwork. It concentrated, and began to absorb power from the earth and stone. It swelled in size and bulk as the earth power flowed through its arms and into its body, it drew more and more and grew until it was twice the height of a human. Its skin thickened and its body grew denser and heavier with each passing moment, taking on a dark gray cast and becoming as hard as the bedrock that lay beneath the tunnel. In moments a two-ton behemoth of living stone stood towering in the chamber, its head nearly brushing the ceiling. It reached out and dragged its fingers down the wall, scoring it deeply, the brick crushed to powder.

The strike teams led by Father Michael reached the wall across the tunnel that marked the laboratory entrance. The door was still padlocked, so he signaled to one of the CO19 men who carried a shotgun with a buckshot load. As the man stepped forward, the other team members spread out on either side of the door, their guns leveled at the opening. Michael reslung the shotgun across his back and drew Tizona from her sheath and stood just before the door, blade held up and ready. He was flanked by Marcel and Simone, who raised their shotguns. The Met officer looked at Michael, and when he nodded, aimed the shotgun at the lock and pulled the trigger. The lock blasted apart, leaving a hole where the latch had been. The shotgunner stepped back, and Michael put his foot against the door and shoved it violently open.

Beyond the door, in the center of the room, was a sight that none of them could have ever imagined, and the men on the CO19 teams reacted with consternation at their first sight of the nightmare that greeted them, shocked into immobility. A huge gray monstrosity crouched before them, seemingly made of boulders stuck together, arms spread wide, fingers tipped with claws the size of steel chisels. It threw its head back and roared a challenge, a sound that shook dust from the ceiling down upon them. Several of the men stepped back involuntarily, gaping at the creature poised to attack them.

Beside him, Marcel swallowed hard and said, “*&^%#! He’s a big fellow, isn’t he?” And then he ran into the room, cutting to the left as the creature swung a massive fist that barely missed clipping him but smashed a huge hole in the brick wall and took out the door frame on that side. “Marcel!” Simone cried, and followed, dodging to the right. The CO19 men recovered quickly from their momentary paralysis; two ran into the room after the Directorate agents, ducking low beneath the creature’s fists and firing their shotguns into its face. They were, after all, an elite force, hardened on the streets of London, the men and women who were sent to deal with the most difficult situations. The four remaining officers poured fire upon the creature from just outside the remnants of the door frame, using the brick wall for cover. Michael waded into the fray, slashing at the zombies surrounding Simone.

Inside the chamber, Marcel and Simone found themselves each confronting half a dozen hostile dead men. Contrary to the Hollywood image of the slow, shuffling zombie, these moved as swiftly as living beings, if with somewhat less coordination. Even so, the two agents quickly found themselves embroiled in a fight for their lives, surrounded by dead creatures that struck at them and tore at their clothing. Unknown to either, the zombies were being controlled by the demonic monster, who had always been their true creator and master. Marcel fired round after round at close range at the dead things with no discernable effect. "*&^, ^%$, $#*!” he shouted in frustration, and flung the useless shotgun down, drawing the machete at his waist. Evidently the stories about salt rendering a zombie harmless were just Haitian legends after all. He swung and hacked wildly about him, as if he were chopping his way through a tropical jungle; severed limbs and chunks of flesh went flying, but the zombies kept closing in. He could not even spare a glance to see how Simone was faring.

At that moment the monster’s great swings finally connected with one of its attackers, and a CO19 officer went flying through the mob of zombies pawing at Simone, knocking one of them off its feet. The officer smashed into the far wall and lay without moving in a broken heap. Simone quickly discovered that the salt in her shotgun rounds was no more effective for her than it had been for Marcel, but she jammed the muzzle of her gun into the open mouth of the nearest creature and pulled the trigger. The back of its head blew off and it dropped limply to the floor. “Coups de tête! Coups de tête!” she shouted excitedly, and then, remembering, “Head shots! Head shots!” She cried out again as a dead hand seized her shoulder from behind, and then suddenly a head went flying past as Michael’s sword connected with her attacker. She dropped the shotgun on the floor, no time to reload, and drew her machete.

The monstrosity in the center was being kept occupied by a constant fire being poured in on it by the police teams, who ducked and dodged as they fired their weapons. After the creature had felled the one officer, another came in from outside to fire at extreme close range, trying to keep it distracted and off the Directorate agents. As soon as they had expended their rounds they ran outside to reload and two more dashed in to take their place. Neither the salt loads nor the buckshot had any discernable effect upon the creature except to make it even angrier and to keep its attention focused on them. Powerful but ponderous, so far it had only been able strike the one man, but it was only a matter of time before it was able to connect again, and any man struck by one of those stone fists would not rise again. There were piles of brick rubble scattered about on the floor where near-misses had smashed into the walls.

Less than a minute had passed since the combat had first ensued, and then suddenly there was anguished screaming from outside the doorway and a dozen more zombies came streaming into the chamber. The trap had been sprung at last. The spike demon and zombies had come pouring out of concealed openings in the tunnel outside the chamber and smashed into the officers from behind. The demon grabbed the first man it came to in its spike-covered arms and shook him vigorously, crushing him against the sharp spines on its front. The Kevlar vest was no defense against the dozens of crystalline blades, and the man died screaming. The demon flung the body down contemptuously and advanced upon the next man, who backed away, firing his shotgun. The demon ignored the ineffective salt loads and seized the man just as he drew his Glock-17 and began firing directly into the thing’s chest, from a distance of centimeters.

Michael and Simone had just finished dispatching the last of their original zombie attackers and were turning to confront the new threat from behind, when there was a high female scream from the rear of the chamber. Startled, they looked up to see an attractive black female in a lab coat standing in an open doorway, covering her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with shock. A single glance was all they had time for, because now the new swarm of zombies fell upon them. The monster smashed another officer to the floor of the chamber and swiveled its head to glare at the black woman. “Kill her!” it ordered, and a flood of dead things swept past it on either side. Suddenly perceiving the threat, she shouted hasty orders at them, “Stop! Go back! Stop, I said!” When they failed to heed her commands and continue to advance, she screamed again and turned to flee into the inner room. It was too late, for one of the zombies seized her by the arm and lifted its fist to strike her in the face.

And then a strange thing happened. One of the zombies converging on Marie Rose stopped dead still for a second, its damaged brain processing the situation, and then lurched forward to grab her attacker and smashed it headfirst into the wall, breaking its head open so that it moved no more. It was dead John Tanner, her first zombie creation, and he now stood before her and fended off the wave of attacking creatures, allowing her time to retreat to the inner chamber and slam the door, before he was mobbed and went down beneath the fists of a half-dozen zombie assailants.

The monster roared again in frustration as she escaped, and turned his attention now upon Marcel, who was down on one knee holding up his machete, his left arm dangling, and surrounded by a pile of felled zombies. The zombies who had been attacking the black woman now turned back to the main fight as the monster took one step forward and raised a massive fist to smash the puny human into the floor. There was more screaming from outside the chamber door, and a fusillade of gunfire as the spike monster sought more victims.

“No!” Michael and Simone cried together, and rushed to the aid of their friend. Michael raised Tizona to strike at the creature, and then, to his complete astonishment, the blade began to glow with a brilliant white light that kept increasing in intensity until it was almost blinding to view, and the sword began to sing, a tone that soared to the uppermost limits of their hearing. He almost dropped it, but there was no heat to the brilliance, and he gripped it again with determination and thrust it forward, into the chest of the monster, sinking it almost to the hilt. The monster immediately stopped moving, eyes bulging, frozen in place, and the wound in its chest began to smoke. In seconds, the entire creature began to glow redly, and it burst into flames which consumed it quickly until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes on the floor.

As Simone quickly went to Marcel, standing over him to fend off the advancing zombie horde, Michael ran out of the room to deal with whatever was attacking the officers outside. He was dismayed to see that only one of the police officers remained on his feet, backing down the tunnel from a bizarre creature covered with hundreds of spikes, desperately trying to cram another clip into his Glock. Michael strode forward and jammed the sword straight into the back of the spiky thing. It wailed as the point of the glowing sword plunged in, and was then consumed to ash in moments.

Michael spun and dashed back into the chamber. The officer he had just rescued followed close behind, swearing, “Wot the bloody *^%# was that thing!” Inside, Michael found Simone backed into a corner beside Marcel, who was back on his feet again, and the both of them were hacking away at the zombies who crowded around them. The sole remaining CO19 officer already in the chamber was standing back a few feet, aiming his shotgun carefully and dropping the zombies one at a time by the simple expedient of blowing their heads off with buckshot loads. He was now joined by the officer from outside, who walked up to a zombie and jammed the barrel of his pistol in one ear of the creature and pulled the trigger. Michael now waded in, and although the glow from Tizona had now disappeared, the blade was quite effective in decapitating zombies. At last there was no one else standing upright in the room save the three Directorate agents and the last two survivors of the CO19 strike team.

Exhausted, all of them sank to the floor in a relatively clear space and leaned against the wall, too tired to speak. Marcel was cradling his injured arm in his lap, Simone resting her head on his shoulder on his good side. Michael leaned forward and wiped zombie gore from Tizona’s blade on the jeans of the nearest fallen zombie, and then sat back and examined the sword in wonder.

Euh, Père Michael, ees no magic sword, hein?” Tired as she was, Simone could still crack wise.

“I had no idea,” he said, still marveling. “I can only think that God came to our aid in this moment of dire need.”


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 16
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Last edited by Easter01 on Fri Mar 31, 2017 1:05 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Sat Mar 25, 2017 6:42 pm

f Joanne you have ymd keep them coming HappyDay watermelon watermelon


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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Postszanne7000 on Sat Mar 25, 2017 8:09 pm

Getting to the nitty-gritty...

OOOOOooooo



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Easter01
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PostEaster01 on Sun Mar 26, 2017 5:45 pm

Hi Everyone,

Fans of our Father Michael stories will be glad to hear that hubby and I have nearly completed Part III of the saga. It picks up where the Zombie story leaves off, and guess what?  It's a novel! It looks like it will top out at more than two dozen chapters (100+ pages) full of spine-tingling excitement.

Look for it very soon! (really!)

Easter01

:choci:


Last edited by Easter01 on Mon Mar 27, 2017 4:16 am; edited 1 time in total




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PostSamantha61 on Sun Mar 26, 2017 6:01 pm

Oh, oh, oh runcircle omgosh I am sooo excited about this..get out the watermelon and the happypopcorn everyone..Joanne and hubby is on a roll dancing ymd


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
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szanne7000
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Postszanne7000 on Mon Mar 27, 2017 4:00 am

Oh, wow, Joanne!

Can't wait to read it! <3<3<3



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PostEaster01 on Fri Mar 31, 2017 1:03 pm


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2016



Part 16

Michael rose wearily to his feet and sheathed Tizona, and then with the help of the other two CO19 men, began to check the fallen officers to see if any still lived and to render aid where they could. The man who had been pounded into the floor was obviously dead, his skull cracked and leaking brain matter, but the other officer, who had been thrown into the wall, stirred at their approach and tried to sit up, but could not raise his broken body from a prone position. Simone began checking the cabinets for medical supplies, looking for something to bind up Marcel’s arm and for the first aid supplies all of them sorely needed. Alfie, one of the two officers who was still mobile, tended to his comrade while Michael and the other man – Bill was his name, Michael now learned - who had been the last survivor of the spike demon attack went back outside the chamber to see how the other men had fared. It was as they had feared; they were beyond help, their bodies sliced to ribbons and lying in thick pools of blood that glistened darkly in the light of their headlamps.  

Bill and Michael came back into the laboratory chamber to find Marcel examining the sling which now cradled his arm, and Simone assisting Alfie in taping up the ribs of the man on the floor, whom they had eased up into a sitting position. The girl paid no attention to their approach, focused on her task and biting her underlip as she pulled the bandages tight, but Alfie looked up with a mute appeal in his eyes as to the fate of his mates. His face fell as Bill sadly shook his head. “Oh, sod it all, anyway,” Alfie muttered. “What a bleedin’ shame!” Seeing that Simone was finished, he put his hands under the wounded man’s arms, saying “There you go, laddie, can you stand up now?” and with Simone’s help, raised him tottering to his feet.

Simone looked around the room and found her shotgun and machete, and wiping off the latter, slipped it back into her belt sheath and walked over to inspect the stainless steel boxes against the far wall, now dented and covered with brick dust. They were refrigeration units, she reported, and came back to Marcel, making some minute adjustments to his sling. Then her eyes opened wide as a thought struck her, something that everyone else had forgotten for the moment. “La femme! Where is the woman!”

“She was no zombie!” Marcel exclaimed.

“No.” Michael reached back and pulled Tizona, and held the sword loosely in his right hand. “She was the zombie maker. The necromancer. If she has not already escaped, we may find her on the other side of that door.”

“We must catch her!” Simone said savagely. “If we do not, then it is tout pour rien, all for nothing! She will just make more zombies, n’est-ce pas?"

“There may be more zombies on the other side of that door,” Marcel cautioned. “And another monster or two, peut-être?"

“That may well be,” Michael acknowledged. “But we have to find out. Alfie, why don’t you help your friend…,” leaving the unspoken question in the air.

The bandaged man spoke up. “Danny. Danny Boyle.” He made a sucking sound through his teeth. “Blimey, that hurts!”

Alfie looked quite relieved to absent himself from further confrontation with assorted monsters. “We call him Danny Boy, of course. Come on lad, let’s get you out of here.” Supporting his friend, the two lurched out of the room into the darkness of the subway tunnel.

Michael looked over to the remaining CO19 man. “Bill, how about it? Are you up for more action, if need be?” For answer, the man began reloading his shotgun with buckshot loads, chambered a round, and looked up with a grin. “Ready when you are, guv’ner.”  

Simone similarly attended to her own weapon, but Marcel, now being essentially one-handed, elected to stick with his machete, and Michael was, of course, planning to wield the sword that had shown such unexpected power. That would bear thinking upon later, but the exigencies of the moment were upon them.

Together, the four warriors walked over to the door. There was a pile of zombie bodies to one side; Michael recognized one of them as the zombie, John Tanner, that they had interrogated at Scotland Yard. The door was unlocked, of course, since the padlock was hanging free on the outside and the woman, whoever she was, had retreated through the door. Simone and Bill took the lead, and leveled their shotguns at the door, ready for anything. Michael took the hasp in his free hand and pulled gently on the door; as it swung slowly open without resistance, he stepped back beside Marcel and raised Tizona.

Inside was another one of the refrigeration units, spotlighted beneath a bright industrial-style fixture that produced a cone of brilliant light but left the corners of the room dark. The smallish black woman who had screamed and run back inside was standing in front of the freezer, staring down inside. As they entered the room, she spun around in alarm, and then stood in front of the unit with her arms spread out against it, as if to protect the contents from the intruders. “Don’t hurt him!” she pleaded. “Oh, please, don’t hurt him!”

Bill and Simone stepped into the room, ignoring her for the moment, and made a rapid sweep of the perimeter. “Nothing here, guv,” the CO19 man reported. “She’s alone.”

Michael lowered his sword, but kept it in his hand, and walked over to the woman. He could tell she was terrified. Not exactly the picture of the evil sorcerer he had imagined responsible for all the zombies and mayhem. Bill and Simone came up beside him, still holding their shotguns leveled, having no trust in this woman at all. Marcel circled around to the other side, just out of her sight. She kept darting quick glances at him and back to Michael.

“Don’t hurt who, ma’am?” Michael asked mildly, using a soothing voice. “Who are you afraid for?” She looked like a rabbit frozen in fear as the hawk swooped down.

“My, my, my husband,” she stammered.

Michael set his sword down on the floor, and eased carefully forward to one end of the box, showing his empty hands, trying not to seem threatening in any way, until he could peer down inside. The glass cover was partly frosted, but he could see that there was a handsome black man lying frozen inside. “Is that your husband?” he asked gently.

“Yes…yes.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. “They killed him.”

“Who killed him?” He asked softly, and waited for her answer. She looked down at the floor and could only shake her head. She seemed as fragile as crystal, ready to shatter unless the touch was very delicate. Michael waited a moment. “What is your name?”

“Marie…Marie Rose Saint-Just.” She glanced back at the cryo unit. “My husband was, was, murdered. I tried to save him.”

“You must have loved him very much.” He paused, and then, very, very softly, he asked, “Were you trying to bring him back?”

She nodded, unable to speak, and then, in a small voice, asked, “Are you a priest?”

“I am. Is there anything you wish to confess, child?” He could sense no evil in this woman, only a deeply troubled soul.

She raised her head and gave him a stricken look, and then her eyes turned to the others in the room. Michael made a brief gesture and his three companions quietly left the laboratory chamber and closed the door. As soon as they had left, Michael offered her a handkerchief to dry her eyes. She choked down a sob, and seemed about to crumple, so he helped her ease down into a nearby chair, and knelt before her and took her hands in his. It all spilled out then, her long and desperate quest to try and find a way to bring her husband back, first by the application of all the science and medicine she knew, and finally turning to the voudou magic of her homeland.

When she had finished, they sat there in silence for long moments. At last he said, “Marie, this has got to stop. You are hurting people.”

She nodded. “I know. I just couldn’t bear to let him go.”

He continued to hold on to her hands, and looked directly into her eyes. “Marie, the people with me are law enforcement officers. Don’t you think you should turn yourself in?”

“But my husband…” She looked at the box.

“It’s time to let him go, Marie. He is with God now. It is time to let him have the burial he deserves, and for you to grieve properly. We will look after him here until arrangements can be made.”

She nodded again, and then stood up. She looked back at the cryogenic unit, and realized that it was really no more than a coffin after all, that her husband was truly dead. She took a deep breath. “His name was Ayuba Masari. He was a good man.” And then she walked out the door to the waiting agents.


THE ZOMBIE EXPERIMENT
continues with Part 17
coming soon




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

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Samantha61
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PostSamantha61 on Sat Apr 01, 2017 2:14 am

I can't remember did you have Part 17 on here before..omgosh I just can't remember runcircle watermelon watermelon


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

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