30 Minute Plan

By Gerald Rice

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Gerald Rice

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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30 Minute Plan copyright © 2011

Written by Gerald Rice. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places or events is purely coincidental and unintended. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical or written, without express permission from the author.

For more information about the author, please visit his website: www.feelmyghost.webs.com.

30 Minute Plan

Lemons, strawberries, oranges…

Life was a fucking joke.

Danton was certain of it now. If the dead rising to feast on the living hadn’t been enough, now the brains had found a way to make them smell like fruit.

‘Scent marking’ the head brain had called it. Just trying to recall any of the long explanation as to why the brains had the dogs risk their necks to spray the stuff on packs of ziggies made his head hurt. It was well past us or them time and this was the best they could come up with?

It made Danton want to start his own thirty-minute plan.

General Tarver had noticed the ziggies traveled in packs four years ago. He’d reported it back to the brains and finally, two weeks ago Dr. Boyle had slapped a canister in Cargill’s hands with the word ‘lemon’ written with a sharpie on it. They’d given Danton one with ‘strawberry’ written on it and Tookes one with ‘orange’.

Their orders were simple enough: walk outside and find the biggest pack of ziggies and spray them down with this stuff.

Danton was ready to tell the pretty young brain who’d handed him his to go shove, but he was a soldier. A dog. He obeyed.

Slow or not, going outside was risky when ziggy was about. Danton was fast and he hustled until he came in contact with a pack. He’d almost threw down the canister and drew down on them, but no. There had to have been an explanation for this. He just didn’t like sticking out his neck before he’d heard it.

He waited until the lead one was just within twenty feet then began spraying them. It was a thick red fluid and yep, it did have the strong scent of strawberries. They didn’t seem to mind too much, even when he got it in their mouths. Danton circled the pack of ziggies, spraying them until the canister was empty.

Then the oddest thing: they turned and shambled away.

Danton shook himself out of his stance. He felt dull, like a knife that had been used too many times; he’d killed so many, destroyed so many more…

Had to go help Tookes. The sooner the other dogs were done the sooner they were all done. He jogged over to the intersection Tookes had headed to and spotted him on the ground thirty yards away.

Even without a face, Danton could identify him. His body had that stupid engagement ring on the pinky finger. Danton had told him several times there was no point in him carrying that flame. Either his girl was leftovers or she was boning some other studly who was keeping her safe.

The canister was by his side still, unused. Like he’d just stood there and let them take him. Except, they hadn’t eaten anything BUT his brain. Ziggy was weird like that sometimes. Despite the thickness of the skull they really could get to your brain. Bones in the face were thinner, more fragile. If a particular ziggy had enough think left in him he could stomp your face in just the right way to lift it right off your head. And then it was hors d’oeuvres for everybody.

Danton scooped up the canister and drew his weapon. A pack was just up the street.

“Hey!” he called. They all turned with the exact same stupid look on their faces. Ziggy’s version of surprise. Danton walked up to them and had gotten within ten feet before he started spraying. He noticed one of them had red-tipped fingers and shot it in the head. It fell to its knees like a whore with a new twenty dollar bill and slumped over.

“What was that?” somebody said over the com. “Dammit, I said notto destroy any of them.”

“It’s Tookes,” Danton said. “They got him.” He tossed his glock aside. They were given only one bullet for themselves in case they needed it.

“Well you still shouldn’t be shooting. You could simply spray Lieutenant Tookes as well.”

“No can do, sir.” The dogs had all made a vow amongst each other that if Ziggy took them down someone would take one of them down to even the score. Officially, Danton knew another dog was explaining to the brain on the com that a dog wouldn’t abide his brother being turned.

“Just get back here as soon as you can.”

It sounded like Boyle himself.

This pack did the same thing as the last when he finished the canister. They turned and headed in the direction they’d been going before he came. Was this stuff Ziggy repellent?

He’d met up with Cargill just before they made it back to base. They nodded to each other.

Cargill stunk of lemon.

“I slipped on some stupid kid’s skull,” he’d said, looking at his yellow-tinged hands.

Ziggy was knocking at the door less than five minutes after he and Danton had made it back. Except this time they were more insistent. Much more. Like they knew these people had something that belonged to them. And they wanted it back really bad.

Cargill had taken point when they burst through. He’d taken down four or five when the first set of hands had grabbed him. He could have fallen back, but Danton had seen it in his eyes before they came back in. He was dull too. That was the real reason he’d gotten that lemon shit on himself.

But another odd thing happened: they took him. Not took him and ate him, but took him away. Dragged him outside and went about their business. Cargill had fought all the way, but with only his fists and that big knife of his there was only so much he could do to Ziggy.

First order of business had not been to pursue and recover. First order of business was to secure the perimeter. The risk of leaving those doors open and another pack of ziggies waltzing in was too great. God be with Cargill, but he was on his own. Danton hoped he was big enough to slit his own throat or punch that blade into his own heart.

Danton chuckled when his com squawked and Cargill’s voice whispered, “I’m still alive.”

He couldn’t have been. Ziggy could have eaten him ten times over in the two weeks he was gone. They hadhim. Even if he could have fought his way free he would have been bitten at least a dozen times. There was no way he was upright still.

“Who is this?” Kent barked.

“It’s me, sir. Cargill.”

“Cargill’s dead, son. If this is some kind of joke I don’t find it—”

“No joke.” The man claiming to be Cargill rattled off a series of identification numbers. It really was him. Danton smirked. Maybe Ziggy had learned to speak.

“H-how are you…”

“I don’t know, but Ziggy hasn’t made a move on me. At least the ones in my pack.”

The lemon-scented ones, Danton thought.

“They smashed my com when they took me, but other than a few bumps and scrapes I’m still upright. I found another soldier. Not sure who—there wasn’t that much left of him. But I took his com.”

“What have you been eating?” Dr. Boyle asked into Kent’s com.