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  ZOMBIE WAR

  Interviews from the Frontline

  by

  Susanne L. Lambdin, TJ Weeks and Mick Franklin

  Zombie War: Interviews from the Frontline

  Copyright © 2018 by Susanne L. Lambdin, TJ Weeks and Mick Franklin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email addresses below.

  [email protected]

  [email protected]

  [email protected]

  Author’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Zombie Wars – 1st Edition

  ISBN

  Dedicated to the survivors of the War.

  INTRODUCTION

  Although the Zombie War still rages in many parts of the world, the end is now in sight. It is clear that several super powers have established control over their own borders and intend -for better or worse – to take over the world.

  In this collection of interviews, three journalists have sought the truth behind the global events of what is usually referred to as the Zombie War (although many people still call it Zom Poc, the Apocalypse, and several other titles). Initially, we were tempted to only use interviews from scientists, world leaders and military personnel. In the end, it was decided that everyone was affected by this tragedy; therefore, the interviews should cover as wide a range of voices as possible. Several of these interviews cover some of the most pivotal events of the Zombie War, detailing how important discoveries were made or how certain catastrophic incidents occurred. However, many more of the interviews cover daily life of people from diverse backgrounds and how they survived the War.

  We have always endeavoured to make our research as accurate and informative as possible, often checking our facts with several sources. Our main goal was to educate you, the reader. It is our dearest hope that people will learn from this book and the events leading up to the Zombie War will never happen again.

  Sincerely,

  Susanne L. Lambdin

  TJ Weeks

  Mick Franklin

  CONTENTS

  Interview 1: Maize, Kansas - Whispering Pines Christmas Tree Farm by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 2: Edinburgh, Scotland - Her Majesty’s Prison by Mick Franklin

  Interview 3: Los Angeles, California - Bungalow on Venice Beach by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 4: ‘The Second Iranian Revolution’ by Mick Franklin

  Interview 5: Maryborough, Australia by Mick Franklin

  Interview 6: Manitou Springs, Colorado -Pikes Peak Cog Railway by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 7: Copenhagen, Denmark by Mick Franklin

  Interview 8: New York City, New York - Central Park by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 9: Ivanofrankovsk, Ukraine by Mick Franklin

  Interview 10: Alexandria, Egypt by Mick Franklin

  Interview 11: Norman, Oklahoma - Cleveland County Courthouse by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 12: Beirut, Lebanon by Mick Franklin

  Interview 13: ‘The Murderous Rage of a Film Maker’ by Mick Franklin

  Interview 14: Honolulu, Oahu - Pearl Harbor by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 15: Alice Springs, Northern Territory, Australia by Mick Franklin

  Interview 16: Tel Aviv, Israel by Mick Franklin

  Interview 17: Sorocaba, Brazil by Mick Franklin

  Interview 18: Moscow, Russia by Mick Franklin

  Interview 19: Caracas, Venezuela by Mick Franklin

  Interview 20: Miami Florida – ‘The Wall of Liberty’ by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Interview 21: Palermo, Sicily by Mick Franklin

  Interview 22: The Soultrist by TJ Weeks

  Interview 23: Leeds, England by Mick Franklin

  Interview 24: Beijing, China by Mick Franklin

  Interview 25: The Bloodlands by TJ Weeks

  Interview 26: Bangkok, Thailand -’The Re-Mercs’ by Mick Franklin

  Interview 27: Warsaw, Poland by Mick Franklin

  Interview 28: Glasgow, United Kingdom - ’Killing Party’ by Mick Franklin

  Interview 29: Zurich, Switzerland - ‘The Psychology of War’ by Mick Franklin

  Interview 30: ‘MAGA – Make the Apocalypse Great Again,’ Unknown location by Mick Franklin

  Interview 31: Video transcript

  MAIZE, KANSAS

  Whispering Pines Christmas Tree Farm

  Interviewer: Susanne L. Lambdin

  INTERVIEW 1:

  A short jaunt in a wagon pulled by two Clydesdale horse takes me out to the back forty acres. The pine trees stand ten to twelve feet high. After two years of no Christmas, due to the zombie outbreak, the owner Stan Burton is busy helping customers choose trees for the holiday. He uses an axe, each stroke cutting deep into a trunk, while a family standby watching. At a quick nod from Stan, his assistant loads the family and cut tree into the wagon to drive back to the house, nestled beside a green barn among the tall trees. Falling snow collects in Stan’s beard, and I’m glad for my heavy coat and muffler.

  Mr. Burton, thank you for talking to me today. It’s beautiful here. It doesn’t look like zombies even stepped foot on your land, yet you stayed on your farm the whole time.

  I dug the graves. They’re not far from here. You’re a city girl. Where did you hide?

  [He’s not particularly friendly. His hands are twice the size of my own, and from the way he twists them, I am left with the impression of him strangling trespassers . . . the living and the undead.]

  I’m actually from Kansas City. I stayed in a boathouse on the river.

  Yeah, zombies don’t swim, do they? At least I never saw one swimming. Seen quite a few at the bottom of the pond, where I put them in cement shoes. It’s the only way I kept scavengers from coming out here to steal our water. The well up at the house has clean water. I kept an eye on it from out of the kitchen window. A double barrel shotgun kept folks from coming up to the house, trying to steal my water, steal my food, and steal the women folk.

  What do you mean ‘steal the women folk’?

  What the hell do you think I mean? Exactly what I said. My family has been on this tree farm for three generations. We bought the neighbour’s fifty acres before the Zompoc. That’s what my kids call it, anyway. I had six kids, three girls, and three boys. If you visit the graves, you’ll see four with the last name of Burton. Two boys survived . . . the youngest. It’s not zombies you have to worry about, especially when things get hard and lean. It’s the scavengers that you have to worry about - they're the ones who cause problems. They’re like wolves, coming in at night, trying to get inside the hen house to steal a few chickens. Only we’re talking about my family, girl. What did you hear?

  Only that your family managed to survive out here, while most of your neighbours died.

  That’s because they didn’t listen to me. No one listened to me. I knew that first night the reports came in about folks dying from the flu that it wasn’t a normal illness. I kept
my kids from getting on the bus and going to school. They were angry with me. All their friends went to school, but when those kids started dropping like flies, and I read the obits, about how they all died of the flu, I knew I did right keeping my family here. My brother and his family came here from Omaha. His wife and two daughters are still here, but he wanted to drive into town when I told him not to – he never made it back.

  Did your brother run into scavengers?

  Girl, you got wax in your ears? People died from the flu, but they never made it to their own funerals. When dead people started to appear in my front yard, looking like hell, I knew then that something ate my brother Paul. He wasn’t the type to run off. People who tried to run, those who loaded their families into trucks, ran into traffic. You can still see miles of cars left on the highway north of here. They’re just now starting to haul them off to a junkyard. Some folks tried to make it out to Cheney Dam on horseback. Thought they’d fare better further out in the country, but lakes only drew more people, and in a Zompoc, you don’t want to be where there are a lot of people. It spells disaster, girl. It spells D-E-A-T-H.

  [Stan places his axe on his shoulder. It’s double-sided and reminds me of something a Viking might swing, and I wonder if it’s custom-made, and how many people he killed with it. I notice a Collie run past after a rabbit. I saw more dogs up at the house, all types.]

  You take in strays, do you?

  Dogs. Not people. Dogs are loyal as long as you feed them.

  Your brother went to town to see what was going on. Did he also go there for supplies?

  I got another ten years’ worth of food stored down in the cellar. If you want to survive, you plan ahead of time for bad things to happen, and I was ready. Come on. Walk with me.

  [Following behind Stan, we walk through the trees, in the flurry of snowfall. I can see the grave markers, but count twenty, not four.]

  That first week, my folks died at the retirement home. Nurse called, told me they died of the flu, and I knew then that things were going to get bad. My wife, Pat, wanted to make all the funeral arrangements. I wouldn’t let her go. Oh, she was angry with me. Angrier than I’ve ever seen in the thirty-four years we’ve been married, so I told my eldest boy, Dan, and we went over there. Just like I thought, they weren’t the only ones to die. A truck was outside loading up the bodies to take over to the McKenzie’s place to burn. Dozens of bodies, some twitching, and I knew I didn’t want to go inside that place. I turned Dan right around to head back to the truth.

  When I heard the screams and saw that nurse run out the front door, holding her hands to her bloody face, I told Dan to fetch the guns. They didn’t tell you on the news that the dead came back to life. They didn’t tell people to stay inside and board up the windows and doors. But I’d been saying it to my friends. Told them to prepare for something Biblical – the End of Days, only they didn’t listen to me until it was too late. Dan fetched my shotgun. The boy liked his .22. He was a bit girly, that boy, slender as a rail and very pretty. Prettier than all three of his sisters and his two cousins combined. But he could shoot. He took one look at that nurse, with her face half-gone, and he said to me, “Dad, that’s a zombie.” Then he shot her in the head. He just stood there, by the truck, shooting those twitching bodies in the truck, shooting whatever came out the door that didn’t look human anymore, and in that moment, I was real proud of my girly-boy.

  I started blasting at the things in the windows. Things that tore at the drapes, staring out with flesh peeled back from their faces, looking like a pack of wild dogs fed on them. But Dan, he didn’t panic, and he didn’t stop shooting, not even when the Sheriff drove up. Bill got out of his car, wide-eyed and scared, took one look at Dan and drew his gun. I thought he was going to shoot my boy. I raised my shotgun, prepared to shoot my best friend in the head, that’s when old Mr. Somersby got out of his wheelchair, walking, and he hadn’t walked in fifteen years. He walked right up to Bill and bit off his nose. Bit it clean off his face and then went for Bill’s tongue. I puked on my boots, I’m not proud to admit it, but I won’t lie about it neither. Dan aimed that .22 rifle at Bill, put him out of his misery, and then dropped Somersby with one clean shot.

  Dan insisted we check for survivors. I didn’t want to go inside, like I said, but that boy was determined to kill those who needed killing and save whoever wasn’t damned. So, I followed that boy inside the retirement home, reliving memories from Iraq, not wanting to be there, but knowing I couldn’t let my boy walk through that hellhole on his own. We managed to pull out five folk who needed saving before a fire broke out in the dining room. I don’t know who started it. I only know it spread fast, and by the time we had those old folk in the back of the truck, flaming shish kabobs started walking out the front door. This time, I didn’t let Dan stand there like Stonewall Jackson and take his time shooting those damn things. I pulled that boy into the truck and we drove off . . . drove right back to the house.

  Did the five people you rescue survive?

  Four of them did. One didn’t. One had the flu, died, came back, and bit my wife. I came in late that night with Dan, Elijah, Billy and Debbie. Debbie is my tomboy. Debbie is as cool-headed as any woman you’ll ever meet, and she reacted first when we heard the screams. She carries a .45 Magnum even to this day. She used that gun to kill that denture-wearing old coot that bit my wife with one snaggle-tooth . . . who kept on biting Pat until her blood spilled on the carpet. Then Debbie shot her mother. Debbie wanted to shoot the other four old birds, but Dan wouldn’t let her. Dan took care of our guests. Dan liked to take in strays . . . human strays, but it was Debbie and Billy who took in the dogs.

  Elijah, my second oldest, now he was one burly son-of-a-gun. That boy was just like me. He liked to hunt and fish. He liked to clean what he killed. When poor Elijah saw what Debbie did to his mother, he never was the same. He kept to himself, up on the second floor, standing guard on the old widow’s walk. He stood there day and night, summer, fall, winter and spring. Anything he saw that he didn’t think needed to be on the farm, he shot it, and he left it for Dan, Billy and Debbie to bury. The other girls, my Mary and my Wilma, now they did the cooking and cleaning, and Paul’s wife Teri did her best to keep folks sane inside the house. Teri is still here too, she and her two girls, and I guess she’s taken the place of Pat. I don’t love her, not like I did Pat, but I need her.

  After they came for my girls, those wolves in the night, Elijah fired off the warning shot. He saw those men come across the south pasture from the widow’s walk. He saw their flashlights. Three of the dogs took out after the scavengers. When they yelped, I woke up to find Dan pulling on my arm. Debbie woke up everyone, even the old folk, and put guns in their hands. We had the doors locked, barricaded, but the wolves brought a ladder. They used it to reach the widow’s walk where they found Elijah waiting with his hunting knife. Elijah killed two of them before they killed him, threw his body right off the roof, and then they came through the window. It was Mary and Wilma’s room those bastards entered, and while their friends fired on us, they took those girls in the night. They took them out the window. I never saw my girls again, but I can imagine what happened to them. After that, Teri had me board up every single window, and without Elijah, no one stood guard on the widow’s walk anymore. It happened last Christmas, right on this very day, but Teri insists we decorate this year, and Debbie got out the old stockings and hung them on the mantle.

  [He pauses to stare at the graves. The four Burton graves are wooden crosses with the names engraved with a knife – Dan, Elijah, Billy and Pat. All four have Christmas wreaths. I can see a rabbit hiding behind Pat’s cross, but the Collie comes up to it and they sniff noses. The Collie wags its tail and then trots off, and I finally hear Stan chuckle.]

  Is that one of the strays Billy and Debbie liked to collect? It seems friendly for a guard dog.

  That’s ole Blue, Dan’s dog, the only original dog that was here before the Zompoc started. It’s female, so
a few of the dogs up at the house are Blue’s litter. Blue seemed to always be in heat, and you won’t find one purebred Collie on the property. Blue was with Dan the day he died. He went out to get water from the well, while Debbie watched from the porch. Blue started to bark, and Debbie started to shout to get my attention. Three zombies somehow managed to get on the property. I figured from the way they looked that they’d been ripped up on the barbed wire. The boys had put it up around the entire farm, along with a fence, using whatever they could find; it was a good barricade. Over at the creek, the fence leans across the water, and that's how the zombies wiggled their way through and made it up to the house. They caught Dan at the well. Debbie shot all three, shot them right in the head, only it was too late for Dan. They’d chewed on Dan pretty good, while Blue chewed on them. Funny thing about dogs . . . they’re more loyal than people are. Nor do they get sick when they bite zombies. Blue fought for Dan, managed to tear off one of those cursed thing’s arms, and kept on chewing on it after my girl shot them.

  Did you arrive in time, Mr. Burton?

  By the time I got outside, Debbie had shot Dan in the head before he turned into one of those things. Billy was out hunting. He didn’t know what happened until he got home later. Those two are twins, you see, and they decided to teach Mary and Wilma how to shoot, and turned the young girls into little soldiers. Debbie always did want to follow in my path, not Billy, and join the Army. I was in the Army for ten years before I left my right leg in Iraq. I guess I didn’t want to see my girl get hurt.