Zombies and Shit (26 page)

After they find all of the components necessary to build the weapon laid out in the blueprints, Laurence and Haroon look for a safe place to put them all together. They cross a street to a gas station and climb a ladder to get to the rooftop. Junko had told them that zombies were horrible climbers, so Haroon figures that’s the safest place for them at the moment.

On the mold-coated roof, Haroon empties the pack. He spreads out all of the items in the black slime. Then unfolds the blueprints to figure out how to construct the thing.

Haroon knows his way around building weapons, so this isn’t much of a challenge for him. He can tell it is some kind of gun. He puts together the barrel first, then the trigger and the power supply. In less than half an hour, the weapon is constructed: a mess of wires and cables formed into the shape of a rifle.

“What is it?” Laurence asks.

“It can’t be…” Haroon says.

“What?”

Haroon examines closely.

“It’s a completely different model than mine,” Haroon says. “But they perfected it.”

“Perfected what? Spit it out.”

“My solar-powered shotgun,” Haroon says. “This is it. The weapon I had been working on for years… But this thing looks like it could actually work.”

“Let me see,” Laurence says.

He picks up the weapon and aims it at a zombie in the distance. When he pulls the trigger, nothing happens.

“Brains!” the zombie yells at him from the distance.

“It doesn’t work,” Laurence says.

“No, it wouldn’t. Not yet. The power supply needs to be charged up, in the sunlight.”

“How long is it going to take? We don’t have much sun left.”

“I have no idea. We should wait at least an hour.”

“Fine with me,” Laurence says, reclining into a moldy puddle on the roof. “I could use a rest anyway.”

Haroon places the rifle onto a ledge in the direct sunlight.

“You looked like MacGyver putting that thing together,” Laurence says.

“MacGyver? You said that name earlier. Who the heck is MacGyver?”

“Oh, he’s an old television character who used to build laser cannons out of bubble gum and paperclips.”

“You have a television? In Copper?”

“No, this was a long time ago. Back in the 1980’s. I used to be on a show back then, too.”

“The 1980’s? You’re not old enough to have been alive in the 1980’s.”

“I was.”

“That’s impossible.”

Laurence grunts at the sky and says, “Nothing’s impossible.”

Then he tells Haroon his story.

Laurence’s full name is Laurence Tureaud, but he was widely known by the name Mr. T.

Back in the 1980’s, Mr. T was a television star and a cultural icon. Everybody loved him. He was the most badass motherfucker on television, the epitome of cool. But then he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He spent several years coming to terms with his disease, fighting the cancer every step of they way so that he could spend as many years with his family as possible. But eventually, the disease got to the point where the doctors just couldn’t do anything for him anymore.

The thought of losing Mr. T was just too much for America. A fundraiser was started to help keep the national hero alive. Although no money in the world could cure his cancer, enough money was raised to have him cryogenically frozen. So for sixty-three years, Mr. T has been suspended in time. He missed Z-Day and the apocalypse, he missed the 50 years of struggle the world had endured since then.

A couple of years ago, a scientist named Jacob Wyslen brought Mr. T back to life. He was a researcher who had a lab on a small island off the east coast. After Z-Day hit, several research stations were put together around the country, all of them with a mission to put an end to the zombie problem. After thirty years, Wyslen’s was the only one that remained. He started with a staff of twenty scientists and soldiers, but these people didn’t last very long. He sent them on dangerous missions into the Red Zone and very few of them came back alive. One day, he realized he was all alone.

Because he couldn’t do his work all by himself, Wyslen decided to resurrect the people who were frozen in the storage. He went from chamber to chamber, trying to bring the bodies back to life. On all occasions, he failed… apart from one. He was able to resurrect Mr. T.

“This isn’t the world Mr. T was expecting to come back to, Doc,” he told Dr. Wyslen, as the doctor examined his motor functions.

“I can put you back if you want?” the old man said.

“No thanks,” said Mr. T. “I would rather help you take down those dead things than live like a dead thing.”

For months, Mr. T assisted the doctor with his research. He proved to be much more useful than the doctor had expected. Not only was he able to go on missions in the Red Zone and come back alive, he also proved intelligent enough to brainstorm theories with him.

“You see, Doc,” Mr. T told him in the large empty cafeteria, “you’re goin’ about this all wrong. You can’t just freeze the undead suckas. They crave brains, and the electrochemical impulses it sends out through the body. That means they must survive on these impulses. I say you work on a nerve gas that’ll take out their whole nervous system. Do that and it’s goodbye zombies.”

“But nerve gas would also kill the surviving humans in the area,” said Wyslen.

“There ain’t nobody left alive out there. It’s just zombies. Mr. T says gas the whole place and be done with them.”

“But nerve gas is pretty useless out in the open. It would just dissipate in the atmosphere.”

“How about putting a fumigation tent over the whole country? Then gas ‘em.”

The doctor laughed. “It would probably be easier to just drop some bombs.”

Mr. T laughed with him. He said, “Now you’re talking,” and slapped the doctor on the back so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

The doctor didn’t work on a nerve gas, but he did invent a sonic device that worked as a repellant for the undead. It was kind of a high-pitched vibration that drove zombies crazy, like a dog whistle.

Wyslen died before his work was completed. Before his death, he asked Mr. T to take his research and bring it to the island of Neo New York. He wanted Mr. T to assist the scientists there with completing his work. With some time and the right resources, his device could become the breakthrough invention that would finally solve the zombie problem for good.

“I’ll make sure they finish your work,” Mr. T told the doctor on his death bed. “Otherwise, they’ll have to answer to Brick and Mortar.”

“Brick and Mortar?” the doctor asked.

“Those are the new names for Mr. T’s fists.”

Doctor Wyslen laughed himself to sleep. He never woke up after that.

After an hour, Haroon’s ready to test the weapon.

“Hopefully there’s some zombies nearby so we can test it from safety,” Haroon says.

When they go to the edge, they see a large horde surrounding the gas station.

“Braaiins!” the zombies yell when they see their heads popping up from the roof.

“You sure we’re safe up here?” asks Mr. T.

“Junko said those things can’t climb, so I figured this would be the safest place.”

“Just because they can’t climb doesn’t mean they can’t mob,” Mr. T says. “If that shotgun thingy of yours don’t work we might be trapped up here for good.”

“Well, let’s try it out,” Haroon says. “Hopefully it works better than the one I created.”

Haroon aims the weapon at the crowd of zombies below. When he pulls the trigger, a beam of energy shoots out of the barrel and shreds four of the walking corpses below.

Mr. T smiles. “It don’t shoot like no shotgun, but it sure hits like one.”

Haroon pumps the shotgun and fires again, blowing zombie limbs and body parts into the air. He shoots again. Then again. After thirty shots, the zombies are still coming at him, but he’s not running out of bullets. Just as he always planned the solar-powered shotgun would work.

“You’re pretty good with that thing,” says Mr. T. “Even though it’s technically supposed to be my weapon, I’ll trade you for the club.”

“You’d rather have the club?”

“That gun sure does the job well, but I’d rather have a weapon I can trust. The club will do just fine.”

“Sure,” Haroon says, then blasts the legs out from under another zombie.