We spent the next few hours reading everything we could about these infrasound weapons. Dr. Russell had detailed notes as well as schematics explaining the inner workings of these deadly weapons. I didn't know if I could replicate them, but with all these detailed drawings, I felt like I could maintain some for quite a while.
We each powered up our weapons before leaving the lab. I noticed Hank partially drawing his revolver, and then letting it fall back into place. It was a practice ancient swordsman used centuries ago. In those days, they called it, "clearing their scabbards," but the purpose was the same. Henry had just made sure his gun could easily be drawn from his holster.
I succumbed to the same compulsion and cleared my own handgun. Like Hank, I was unsure
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the sonic weapons would be effective. If they failed to stop the undead, we'd need to resort to bullets as our backup. Even though the passage outside was clear earlier, we still used caution. Listening at the door would be useless since the room had been thoroughly soundproofed, so we opened it a crack. The hall was dark, but our flashlights revealed that they were free of walkers. I started through the doorway when a squeak brought me to a halt. I turned and gave my friend a stern look. "They're all I have," he whispered apologetically. Releasing the deep breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding, I turned once again to the dark hallway. The squeak coming from Hanks boot sounded alarmingly loud in the empty corridor. We stopped outside the door with the spray painted warning. I raised my weapon, but Henry held a finger before me, signaling me to wait. My jaw dropped as he proceeded to pound on the door with his fist. I hurriedly shone my light down both directions of the hall. I wanted to be sure we were still alone. The walkers inside responded with a vengeance. We heard them clawing at the door and moaning in hunger. "What the heck!" I demanded under my breath. "We had to make sure they were active in there," he said, looking at me like I was crazy. "Then why did we sneak up on the door all quiet-like?" I asked a little more calmly. He stood there for a second. "I just thought..." "Whatever!" I exclaimed, cutting him off. "Let's just get this done!" "You ok?" he asked, concerned. "I'm fine," I replied. "This place just creeps me out. Let's see what these guns can do." Hank stepped back and, turning, faced the door beside me. We leveled our charged weapons at the door. If Dr. Russell's notes were right, the doorway wouldn’t impede the infrasound. It should still be effective. I pulled the trigger to my gun and nothing happened; no sound, no kick, not even a crazy green ray of light. I lowered my weapon and looked at Hank. He was panning his across the door and the adjacent walls. His was silent mike mine. "Guess they don't work," I said as he lowered his own weapon. He just looked at me. "What?" I asked, as if something was wrong. "Do you hear anything?" he asked. Then it dawned on me. The dead inside were no longer active. The infrasound weapons had affected them. "But my gun didn't do anything," I asked, looking down at the rifle-like weapon. "Infrasound is below the level of human hearing," he said. "People can tolerate maybe 70 DB, but Gavreau was working at much lower levels. What we couldn't hear a few seconds ago could easily kill us." "Umm... How are we going to get in there to see if they are truly dead?" I asked. "I...
hadn't thought of that," he said.
A slapping noise brought us back to reality. Shining our lights in the direction of the sound, we saw a walker stumbling our way. Its gait was affected by what looked like a broken leg. Behind it came two more.
"Here's a test we can actually witness," I said, pointing my infrasound weapon at our attackers. "Listen to this!"
I pulled my trigger and nothing perceivable happened. The only thing that was different was that the dead at the end of the hall immediately dropped to the ground.
"Awesome!" Hank said.
"Freakin' awesome!" I added to his original comment.
We danced around in the hallway for a minute until our better sense took over. A quick look down the corridor in each direction made us feel secure once again.
"Let's get inside," I suggested.
"No!" Hank said emphatically. "I need to study one of the dead."
"Really?" I asked. "Tell me you aren't gonna dissect one of these nasty things."
Henry paused a moment. "I could say I'm not, but I'd be full of crap," he said as he shrugged.
"Just tell me I don't have to touch them," I begged.
"You don't have to touch them," he replied. "In fact, if you keep watch I can do what I need right
here." As I stood guard, Henry removed the top portion of the first walker's skull. In order to cut through the bone, Hank used one of Russell's tools. It looked like a tiny buzz saw with a handle. After he carefully lifted the top portion and gently probed around the brain, he pulled the parasite free of the gray matter with a pair of pliers and deposited it in a glass jar. "I hope you're not thinking of bringing that into the lab with us," I stated, with my fingers crossed. He looked up at me as if to ask why not. "You have to leave your toys outside," I informed him. "I'm not sleeping with them in there with us." "But they're dead," he said sheepishly. "You seriously won't be scared?" I asked. "You do know those parasites tend to weasel their way into innocent people's heads, causing them to walk around eating other people." "I know that!" he said, crossing his arms across his chest. "And you'd be ok sleeping with some of them in the same room?" "Now that you put it that way," he mused. "The parasites are dead! Of course it would be alright! No big deal. I feel this way because... they're dead!" "You can do whatever experiments you want out here!" I demanded. "Alright!" Hank said, giving in. "But you have to guard me anytime I want to run a test." "Deal," I agreed, happy to settle our dispute. It wasn't that Hank was being unreasonable, but I just wouldn't be able to relax with those parasites in the lab with us. I wanted at least a door between us. I didn't understand what Henry was looking for and I still don't. He made me go outside with him periodically to check on the zombies. He used a magnifying glass to peer at the parasites more closely. As he poked at them with a pencil, I guessed he was trying to see if the life form would animate itself somehow. Between visits to the undead outside, we studied everything we could find about the infrasound weapons. We also stowed everything we could think of into our backpacks. This lab wasn't a place we wanted to stay at for a long period of time. I found myself worrying about the others, wondering about their safety. While reading Dr. Russell's notes, I paid close attention to the schematics. We downloaded his research onto several flash drives. We had to be the only people running around this burned out world using flash drives. As a further precaution, I planned on removing the hard drive of Russell's computer before we left. This way we would have everything backed up a couple of times over. Our work here at the lab was finished. We wanted to be on the road at night. Henry and I had a running theory that zombies couldn't see well in the dark. We checked on the walkers outside the lab one last time. "Man," I said. "Those things are getting ripe." "Tell me about it," Henry said, probing a body while holding the neck of his t-shirt over his lower face with his free hand. "Are you done yet?" I asked, feeling nauseous from the odor of the rotting corpses. "I'm gonna barf." "As done as I'll ever be," he said. We went back inside the lab to get our things. Hank thoroughly sanitized his hands with a tiny squeeze bottle of Purell. Casually dropping the empty container on the floor, he picked through his pack trying to distribute the weight evenly. I took this as a sign that he wanted to leave, so I powered down the computer and removed the hard drive. As we started for the door, I gestured at the empty hand sanitizer bottle on the floor. "Are you gonna leave that there?" "What?" Hank asked, confused. "Why not?" "That's the problem with people's mindset during the apocalypse!" I explained. To leave crap wherever it falls. Just imagine how orderly the end of the world would be if people would just take the time to pick things up occasionally, how nice everything could be." "It's the little things, Martha Stewart," he added to my joke. "I thought you didn't watch silly TV," I said, a little perplexed at his answer. "Melissa loved her," he answered reluctantly. "Every holiday season, she would make me watch Martha's show. She'd force me to put my work down and watch the whole program." I grinned back at him as I reached for the door handle. "I'll bet she had to forced you, or were you the archeologist who kept little sachets of potpourri in your pockets so you'd smell nice all day?" "I never..." He tried to explain, but I cut him off quickly.
A starving man paves his own highway with the calloused soles of his hunger. Out on the untamed wastelands, forests, and prairies it was the way of the gun, the knife, and the axe for all that managed to survive. And survive these brave men and women did with a sheer will of endurance that the pampered of today’s world has not come to know even the shadow of. In our modern comfort we live in what legacy these bold souls carved out of this nation, and much of the thanks we must give is passed to the sweat-hewned implements of their survival, the weapons of the frontier.
Haven, Charles T. and Frank A. Belben. A History of the Colt Revolver. New York: Bonanza
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