Rotters_Alpha Contact Read online

  The Dahulu - A fabrication, see the Kindu above.

  CHAPTER 7

  Bees and Electromagnetic Fields - As described in the story, bees carry a mild positive electromagnetic charge picked up from the Earth’s atmosphere, and some flowers utilize a mild negative charge to attract them. This has been verified under laboratory conditions. Cell phones and electronic communications equipment do emit powerful electromagnetic signals that can interfere with, or be detected by, living organisms.

  Zombies, Viruses and Electromagnetic Fields - The ACS victims and the zombies in the various stages of the disease’s progression can detect strong electro-magnetic field disturbances. While fleeing from zombies, do not use your cell phone to call for help.

  At close range, the viruses themselves can detect the electro-magnetic signals produced by a living human body, providing limited sensory capabilities to even separate infected body parts. (AKA Wrigglers)

  Fish Jerky - Sadly, fish jerky is real. My advice - don’t eat it.

  Concentrated Urine - Also true. Hunters use concentrated animal urine to cover their own scent. Many deer hunters use this trick here in the U.S. Don’t ask me how it is ‘collected.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Cobalt Ore and Tantalum - Although I would like to take credit for this stuff, I didn’t make it up. Roughly eighty percent of the world’s cobalt reserves are located in the DRC, and tantalum really is used to make electronic components.

  CHAPTER 10

  Blue Mountain - This location was manufactured for the story. Cobalt ore is almost always produced as a byproduct of the refining process of copper ore. They naturally occur together in mineral deposits. There is no ‘Pure Cobalt’ as described at Blue Mountain.

  THE CHARACTERS OF ROTTERS ALPHA CONTACT

  Agent Jerry Foster

  Of all the characters in these stories, I found Jerry the most relatable. Jerry sprang into my mind as what a real CIA agent would be like; a geek, smart and capable, but balding, fat, and out of shape; not at all like the glamorous movie version of a CIA agent. I also immediately grabbed onto the idea of him not carrying a gun, and being a decent guy, not a double-crossing asshole, as I suspect most readers assumed he would turn out to be. No offense intended to any real CIA agents out there! You guys do amazing work and keep us safe!

  Angel

  I loved working with Angel. He was such a cool character to develop and write about. I can hear his smooth, deep bass voice with just that little bit of accent in my head when he speaks in the story so clearly. As you can probably now derive from his name, his character is meant to be representative of a guardian angel. I also needed a counter to Jerry’s foibles, someone really capable in the wilds of the Congo, and a strong African character.

  Dr. Vogan

  Vogan came from all the adventure stories I read in my youth, and way too many Saturday afternoons watching old Tarzan movies. He has just a dash of the jocks I went to high school with thrown in for good measure; handsome, fit, smug bastards, who didn’t even realize other people didn’t like them.

  THE WEAPONRY OF ROTTERS ALPHA CONTACT

  The weapons depicted in Alpha Contact are generic examples of the weapon in question, with the exception of the 800 Wildcat, which is depicted below for readers unfamiliar with elephant guns.

  AK-47 Kalashnikov Rifle.

  Specifications:

  Caliber: 7.62×39mm M43/M67

  Weight: 11.5 lb. (5.21 kg) with loaded magazine

  Length: 34 in (870 mm) fixed wooden stock

  Length: 25.4 in (645 mm) stock folded

  Barrel Length: 16.3 in (415 mm)

  Magazine Capacity: 10, 20, 30, 40, 75, or 100-round detachable box and drum style magazine

  Action: Gas-operated, rotating bolt

  Sights: Adjustable iron sights

  Capabilities:

  Muzzle Velocity: 2350 ft./s (715 m/s)

  Maximum Range: 440 yds. (400 m) semi-automatic, 330yds (300 m full automatic

  Rate of Fire: 600 rounds/min

  M-4 Rifle

  Specifications:

  Caliber: 5.56x45mm

  Weight: 6.4lbs (2.9kg)

  Overall Length: 33in (840mm)

  Magazine Capacity: 30 round box

  Capabilities:

  Muzzle Velocity: 2970f/s (884m/s)

  Rate of Fire: 700-950 rds./min

  Maximum Range: 500yds (500m)

  Beretta Nine- Millimeter Semiautomatic Pistol - 92 Series

  Specifications:

  Caliber: 9×19mm Parabellum

  Weight: 34oz (950 grams)

  Length: 8.5 in (217 millimeters)

  Barrel length: 4.9in (125 millimeters)

  Magazine Capacity: Detachable box magazine: 10, 15, 17, 18, 20, 30 rounds

  Capabilities:

  Muzzle velocity: 1250 ft./s (381 m/s)

  Maximum Range: 50m

  Forty-Five Automatic Pistol

  Specifications:

  Caliber: 45 Caliber

  Weight: 54oz

  Length: 9 in

  Barrel length: 5.4 in

  Magazine Capacity: Detachable box magazine: 8 rounds

  Capabilities:

  Muzzle velocity: 1000ft/s

  Maximum Range: 150 ft.

  800 Wildcat

  Specifications:

  Caliber: .800

  Weight: 18 lbs.

  Overall Length: 58 in

  Barrel Length: 38 in

  Capacity: 2 rounds

  Capabilities:

  Muzzle Velocity: 2000ft/s600m/s

  Maximum Range: 200ft400m

  The 800 Wildcat is a custom-designed prototype built for the character, Angel. It is a double-barreled rifle, in a side-by-side configuration. The rifle uses a .800-inch big game cartridge, and although it is not a real firearm, it could be built. It is patterned after the double-barreled big game rifles used by the British in Africa, and still produced in calibers approaching the .800 today. These rifles are extremely expensive; purchased new, they can go for over $60,000 U.S. The rounds cost approximately $100 each.

  The recoil from this weapon would be sufficient to break the shoulder of an average-sized man who was brave enough to fire it. Imagine the recoil from a standard big game cartridge to a magnitude of x10.

  The rifle is equipped with two triggers, one for each barrel. Even Angel did not fire both barrels simultaneously.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Carl Cart is an author and award winning independent film maker. He lives in rural Southern Indiana in a small cabin with his wife Jennifer and their dog Bob, patiently awaiting the zombie apocalypse.

  Carl is the author of the ROTTERS trilogy, and the zombie/comedies DWARFS OF THE DEAD & DETOUR 366.

  1

  A noise to his front snapped his head away from his binoculars and his hand instinctively reached for the weapon across his lap. Down the hill, about fifty metres away, a shadowy figure shambled, struggling to negotiate the steep and slippery grass bank. Steve remained seated and watched as the figure slipped, its feet falling away from under it and causing it to fall face first in to the grass and slide back down the hill before regaining its balance and trying again.

  It looked like a man, though from this distance, Steve couldn’t be certain. A quick glance left and right again and Steve was happy in his security. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He thumbed the top open and placed one between his lips. As he lit it, he could taste the smoke draw into his mouth, musty, and not as fresh as they used to be twelve years ago, but there were very few vices now, and as long as he could still find them Steve would continue to enjoy a smoke now and then.

  He zoomed in with the binoculars again to get a better view of the figure below him. He adjusted the focus and saw that what he was looking at had once been a man.

  It had seen him too, and was doing its damndest to climb the hill.

  Steve continued puffing away on the cigarette as he studied the man.

  Its skin was m
ottled grey and brown and stretched tight over its face, as thin as paper and dry as match wood. The corners of its jaw and cheek bones were visible, the skin having rotted and weathered away. What had been weeping, puss dripping sores were now dark holes in its face leaving the teeth and bone structure visible in places below the skin.

  Eyes that had once read books, the Sunday papers, gazed at beautiful scenery and watched movies, now lay shrivelled and dry in their sockets. They could distinguish between light and dark, and movement and large shapes could be seen, but small details were now hard to focus on, and it was only a matter of time until the figure would be completely blind.

  Wisps of dried, sun-bleached hair blew in the breeze, revealing much of the bare scalp underneath. To a large degree, it was nothing more than a skull with a thin layer of leathery skin covering the surface. Where there had once been a nose, now a dark hole in the middle of its face, almost like a cave in a grey mountainside

  The figure emitted a low moan as it struggled to reach Steve, the vocal cords rasping in its dried out throat. The sound was more of longing, of needing than an attempt at communication. Its jaw flexed and gnashed out of instinct rather than hunger or frustration as it clawed at the grass with its bony rake-like hands.

  Its tattered, ripped, and battered clothes that had once fit a living human frame, now hung in ruins from its emaciated shoulders and back. Years of exposure to the elements, dirt and grime had discoloured them to become the same colour as the figure itself. Where its jacket hung open, or was torn away, Steve couldn’t tell; its ribs and sternum jutted out from its grey skin, a large cavity, where it had once had liver, stomach and intestines, now a black and empty cavern.

  The figure never gave up, it never tired and it never lost interest, and never would, not as long as Steve stayed in plain sight. It would continue to try and climb the hill for the rest of eternity, so long as something kept its attention focused on reaching the summit.

  Steve watched in wonder. After all these years, he still found that he couldn’t help but study them. Their behaviour never seemed to change when they saw him. It was true that he had witnessed occasional differences in their behaviour, but he had found that it was always when they were unaware of him that they acted differently.

  There had been times when he had witnessed them show interest, or even curiosity, in inanimate objects. A fleeting memory maybe pushing its way to the surface and for a moment reminding them of the things they had known before. A car or a book, even something as irrelevant as a cup, Steve had watched them clumsily try to manipulate items in their uncoordinated hands as though trying to cling to a former existence. Or maybe it was just a spark of the old human nature coming through, to study and to learn?

  But in general, their existence was basic and single-minded. He knew that he couldn’t reason with it, that no matter how much he tried, he would not be able to convince it to do anything other than come for him. He had been up close and personal with thousands of them over the years, and yet he still watched.

  The same questions always formed in his head. Who was the man he was watching? What did he do for a living? Did he have a family, where are they now? Did he like simple things, movies, good food and pretty women?

  Then other questions inevitably came to him; does he remember anything? Does he feel emotion of any sort? Is he aware of himself and what has happened to him? Questions that Steve could never answer, but nevertheless, questions he always pondered.

  He could see a couple more figures staggering along the road. Slowly they made their way along the tarmac, occasionally bumping into vehicles, debris and sometimes, each other. Using his binoculars, he did a quick scan to check for any sign that they were likely to be coming his way. They weren’t. He was either too far away for their bad eyesight, or they just hadn’t yet noticed him.

  He knew that on their own, they’re easy to out-manoeuvre and deal with as long as you're careful, but in groups, then you're likely to have a lousy afternoon. However, for the moment, Steve was safe. He had the high ground, good range of visibility and mobility on his side. At the first sign of trouble, he could just walk away.

  Without realising, a sigh escaped his lips with the last of his cigarette smoke. He looked down at his feet and then back up at the skyline of the city. Though he had never really been a people person, he sometimes missed the hustle and bustle of the past. It had been easy back then. If you needed something, you went shopping. If you were hungry, you went to the fridge, or even a restaurant. If you were bored, you did whatever it was that you found entertaining. Even the basics such as running a tap and having instant clean water, or flicking a switch and the room being lit from the light above was a thing he no longer took for granted.

  But it wasn’t just the amenities that he found himself sometimes longing for. He had hated all the Reality T.V., Chat Shows, and Soap Operas, as well as advertisements for crap he didn’t need. The modern culture of everything being disposable, including people and marriage, everyone being too interested in what was happening with their favourite celebrity at the time, politicians screwing over the people they were supposed to be striving to make a better future for; it had boiled his blood.

  But that was just it, it was all life. It was everyday, mundane, run of the mill, life.

  “Actually, Mankind and civilisation was fucking shit!” Steve didn’t realise he had said it aloud until the figure at the bottom of the hill stopped still and stared in his direction. A couple of seconds later it doubled its efforts to climb. The ones on the road hadn’t heard him.

  He looked down again and let out a silent laugh. “Aye, I always did prefer dolphins and gorillas to people.”

  When There Is No More Room In Hell is available from Amazon here.