Verruckt
Part 1
Prolog
My crew and I double back from the airfield. We have reports of an asylum. Within its hallowed hall lies the sprits of the long departed. We attempt to enter the sanitarium, but all access is forbidden. The men guarding the gates say that nothing lies within. If this is true, then why do they insist on keeping us out?
Chapter 1
Berlin looked like hell. After The Rising, all life had been choked out of the city streets. As Captain Wesley and his Corporal Oxford entered the city, all that was left was evidence of former battles, and not just the ones from the war. True, dilapidated buildings sloped left and right, but there were other signs of struggle. There where not corpses, only bones. Wesley sat down on a concrete bench to take a breath. He unscrewed his canteen and took a sip of some rancid water the two had collected from a burst water mane. The two had been living like this for days.
Ten days prior, the two were two top-notch Marines. That all changed one night. They were introduced into a world where the dead walk, the living run, and nothing makes cense. They had gotten a message from their friend to come to Berlin. They had made it into the city, only to find it devoid of life. Oxford stumbled on over to Wesley with a louder-that-acceptable snap as he stepped on the femur of some body he didn’t want to identify as Soviet or Nazi. He removed his helmet to reveille his dirt-caked, matted brown hair. He stared up the tallest buildings in the city near the center of Berlin. Screams and gunshots could still be heard and flames could be seen. While most of Berlin could evacuate when the undead rolled in, a few isolated pockets were surrounded from the start, forcing some residents to make a concrete island in a sea of zombies, ever shrinking as the creatures pushed further out of the city. Hell, that was the issue. Instead of the zombies pushing into the city, they where finding ways out. And right where the thickest infected section was right where their friend’s message came from.
“Shit,” Oxford cussed, letting his Brooklyn accent come through. “You think Peter will be alive in there?”
“He has to be, Ox,” Wesley replied. “Now”, he said, lifting up his salvaged MP-40 “Let’s get moving.”
“Yeah, right. Strait into a death trap.”
Oxford wasn’t joking. There was something odd about the infected here. It was as if they evolved. They began to use tactics. Instead of walking strait off the edge of a cliff or roof, they now know enough to stop. It may not sound impressive, but in a world ruled by something whose only purpose is to kill you, cognitive thinking is a scary aspect to give to the enemy when that’s your only advantage. Well, that and ammunition.
The two had been hiking through the woods with the buggers on their tails for three days, all in hope that civilization might be a safe haven for them. They where wrong. It was a zombie breeding ground. As they trudged into the city, no zombies had been seen yet, only the bodies of Marines and Soviets. Why had the Marines been in Berlin? Wesley would stock up on ammo from the bodies and move on. Eventually the two arrived at a bistro. The familiar, crunch-and-slurp of a zombie feeding was heard. Wesley unsheathed his combat knife and ducked behind an abandoned automobile.
He looked into the bistro to find a full sized zombie, still wearing its tattered Nazi uniform, feeding on a large chunk of pastrami hanging above the counter on a string. The creature looked almost amusing as it desperately tried to rip off large chucks of the meat with its teeth alone. No other zombies where around, but even just a single zombie usually meant that they where near a major horde. Oxford gave Wesley the signal to take the creature down by flashing his knife in a stabbing position. One zombie alone isn’t a threat unless it finds a way to trap or sneak up on you, but if the zombie in the store were to see Wesley and Oxford and give off a low moan, every zombie in the city would be swarming them in less than ten minutes. They needed to kill the thing before that could happen.
Wesley crept up behind the creature without it realizing him, giving Wesley a second to observe it up close. Deep, gratuitous flesh wounds bore through the creature, but no blood seemed to flow from them. Wesley almost got overwhelmed by the stench of freshly spilt blood and rotting flesh as he got within stabbing range. Wesley knew what he needed to do; aim for the brain.
In one fluid movement, Wesley gripped the creature’s body and head like you would a snake’s, leaving his other hand to wield his blade. The first thing he did was tare at the throat from behind, drowning out any moans with the low gurgle of viscous blood that drained over Wesley’s hand and into the creature’s windpipe. After that, he stabbed the creature in the face several times until it stopped wreathing in his hands. Wesley didn’t have the stomach to look the thing in the face, but he could feel his knife carve the once chiseled out human face into an unidentifiable mass. With minimal force, he pushed the creature forward and let its body fall to the floor. There was a splat as chunks of undigested pastrami spewed out of the creature’s torn face and onto Wesley’s boots. Zombie hunting isn’t a profession many are good at, but Wesley and Oxford where one of the first professionals.
Wesley put his knife back in its sheath.
“Alright,” he said as checking the shop for food, “Let’s keep moving.”
Wesley walked with a slow, painful limp. He barley resembled the man he once was. His auburn hair had been caked over with so much dirt it seemed as if his hair was brown. His hands seemed permanently stained red with the blood of the undead. Several miles of travel had worn a hole in his combat boots, giving him his slow kneel every time he stepped on one of the tacks holding his shoes together. Oxford, however, just looked like himself. The long period of war had given him a certain rugged look that seemed to belong only to members of the old breed. Wherever their friend was though, they were sure he looked much worse. They had gotten a fix on their friend Peter’s position somewhere within an old asylum, which, by the way, just happened to be where the carnage the undead had left was the thickest.
As Wesley walked down the road toward the asylum, several half-eaten Marine bodies covered the ground, and as they got closer to the sanitarium, even more began to stack up. Something was wrong, very wrong. Wesley was no major, but he knew that the Marines weren’t serving in the European theater, especially not so late in the war against Japan. As he looked down the street, he saw a mangled carcass in the road. At first glance Wesley thought it was dead, but the he noticed the thing was moving. It got up, turned toward Wesley, and began a slow crawl toward them. Oxford quickly raised his gun, shouting “SHOOT IT!”
With one round in the gut from Wesley’s MP-40, the creature hunched over, screamed, and fell to the floor. Wesley through his gun to the floor and ran to the person’s aid. Zombies don’t react to gunfire. He’d just shot a survivor, someone who could tell them what happened! When Wesley arrived to the man’s aid, he was already bleeding out. When he arrived to his side, Wesley could tell the man was a young Marine.
“Hey,” Wesley said, cradling the man’s head in his arms, “Stay with me. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
The man made a sob as if he was trying to say yes, but instead a large amount of blood flew from his mouth.
“Okay!” Wesley shouted, “Good! Now, listen. What happened here?”
The man began to shake violently as he coughed more blood up onto Wesley. He had gotten so used to cold, viscous blood that drains from a zombie, that the feeling of the young man’s lukewarm blood made him feel ill. The man gave one more sob, and died in Wesley’s hands. Oxford had just arrived in time to see the man slip away.
“God damn it,” he said quietly, “We just lost another.”
Wesley reached down and pulled out the man dog tags. They read: Special Operations. Pvt. William Thomas.
Chapter 2
The following is an excerpt from a handbook with no cover located in a library in the city of Braslou, Germany:
"Gentleman,
Allow me to take this opportunity to welcome you into group nine three five. This is a prestigious moment in the history of our race for you represent the future of technological advancement. You are the pioneers of human discovery. In your hands lies the destiny of mankind. In our hands is a great power and with that power comes a price. You have volunteered to be part of this great experiment and with that decision comes the responsibility of absolute secrecy. No one is to know what you do where you work what our research has discovered or what our purpose will be. You will have no further contact with your governments or your families. Your decision to fully dedicate your lives to group nine three five is absolute. In your lockers you will find your field ops manual which will direct you should our manifest get compromised. We cannot afford to let this power fall into the wrong hands and therefore the field ops manual should be considered your bible. Make your preparations now, a new dawn is beginning for mankind.
Dr. L. Maxis"
Chapter 3
After the experience Oxford and Wesley had in the streets, thing grew silent. Nether on of the men spoke a word. A hush had fallen over the two, not just because of what had happened, but because experience had taught them so. A zombie can hear a pin drop from across the room. Wesley an Oxford didn’t want to risk conversation.
Night was falling, but few undead remained outside. For some reason, twilight blinds them. Wesley never was good at biology, but the way he figured, the undead have dead eye’s keeping them permanently dilated, giving them ultra-sharp night vision, and during the day, so much light floods them that they compensate by increasing other senses like hearing and smell. During the golden hours though, their bodies can’t detect a switch in light and leave them blinded. Wesley learned this after a close call with a zombified comrade. After learning this, the two only traveled at dusk and dawn. In a hushed tone Oxford spoke.
“Darkness is falling fast. We need to find some shelter.”
Wesley nodded in agreement. They were approaching the asylum fast, but more and more dead Marines began to pile up. Like they had crossed a ring of control, the bodies began to swap from Marines to Soviets. A small pile of limbs was shaking near a dilapidated building. Wesley shouldered his weapon and approached it. In one quick movement, a zombified Marine launched out from the pile of corpses. The creature released a hideous moan and dove into the city sewers like a rat.
“What do you think?” said Wesley, figuring there was no more point in whispering, “Should we smoke it out with a grenade?”
“Nah,” said Oxford, “Makes for fewer limbs to mop up. Let it flee.”
Wesley didn’t like the idea of letting one of the creatures get away, but Oxford was right. A grenade would only make for a big mess and even more noise.
Only a few more minutes of walking would bring them to the asylum and (hopefully) a clue as to the whereabouts of Peter. Eventually they reached it. A large sign over the gate read “Wittenau Sanitarium.” Around the outside of the building was a ring of burning corpses. Freshly burning corpses. The front gate was barricaded and padlocked.
“Alright,” said Wesley, “We’re here.”
He pulled out his map of Berlin he had been carrying. Before he had to flee the airfield before the explosion, he managed to jot down the coordinates. He double-checked his position before folding it back up and placing it back in his uniform.
“Wit… White… um.”
“Wittenau Sanitarium,” corrected Oxford.
“Right, well, let’s find a way in.”
If this was practical war, there would have been a near unlimited amount of entries, but this wasn’t practical war, was it? They’d need to find an open area as not to be cornered upon entry, and they’d need to enter stealthfully. That ruled out blowing a hole in the wall of the building. Eventually, Oxford found an entrance. A small window near the side of the building had already had its glass blown out and was covered by only a few splintering boards. Oxford lifted the butt of his rifle and beat in the boards. Once they were clear, Oxford looked at Wesley and told him to take point. Once Wesley entered the asylum, thinks got deafeningly quiet. Suddenly, a figure began to stir in the corner. Wesley raised his machine pistol in the direction of the noise. Spine tingling, he yelled at the creature in German to come forward. There was a still moment, and then a figure went sprinting at him. He felt a heavy object land square on his forehead, and before he knew it, he was sent sprawling on the floor staring down the barrel of a gun. The impact left Wesley seeing starts, but after his vision cleared, he could make out the figure of a Marine. The shadow looked at him a spoke in a young voice.
“Don’t move.”
Wesley shook his head and gazed in amazement. “Peter?” he spoke.
Oxford stepped in with his pistol drawn and shoved it into the face of the shadow.
“Not exactly,” Oxford said.
The shadows cleared from Wesley’s head and he found himself gazing into the face of another, much younger Marine. Oxford and the Marine stood in a standoff, the Marine pointing the gun at Wesley, and Oxford pointing at the Marine. Just for the hell of it, Wesley drew his Magnum and pointed it in the face of the Marine. An older man in a tattered major’s uniform came to the aid of the Marine. He spoke in a low and gravelly voice, the voice that tells a less experienced officer like Wesley that that man had been to hell and back.
“Don’t shoot dammit! Riley, stand down!”
The young Marine reluctantly retracted his weapon. The older Marine looked at Wesley and Oxford and demanded to know there name and rank.
“Corporal Denison Oxford, Dog Squad, B Company, 1st Marines!”
“Benjamin Haney Wesley, Acting Captain of B Company, 1st Marines!”
The older Marine eyed the two before he seemed to relax. “Sorry I had to call my dog on you. We occasionally get the random walking corpse or Nazi Militia here. We need to defend ourselves.”
“Did you just call me your dog?” Riley asked.
The older Marine continued, “This is Riley, my wingman. He’s got a mouth, but he’s the best sniper around.”
“Yep,” he said, “I can drop a Jerry from 500 meters without a scope!”
“And I’m Major Fredrick, we’re both from the 3rd Marine division.”
Wesley shook Fredrick’s hand. “It’s good to see another living face around here. So, what happened?”
“God, I’m not sure if I know myself. We were sent to assist in clean-up duties in Berlin, just as I’m sure you were. One day at the airfield, a Soviet distress signal came in from Berlin. We thought nothing of it, but then a telegram from the top brass came in instructing up to enter Berlin to ‘quell fascist protesters,’ with instructions from Douglas MacArthur himself. I figured something was wrong when we prepared for the battle. You don’t bring flamethrowers to a riot. Once we got here, half the city was in flames and the soviets had tanks evacuating wounded soldiers. I remember the Soviets forming a firing ring around the city, shooting any civilians that crossed the line.”
“You said you were with other Marines,” said Oxford, “If a lone Marine tried to enter the city, were would they send him?”
“Shucks,” said Fredrick, “Everyone was in a panic at the time. They probably would’ve just handed him a rifle and pointed him towards the asylum.”
“So what happened when you got here?”
“Well, the Soviets had surrounded the area and were firing into the crowd. I remember how shocked I was to see them firing live rounds. I never got a good look at the things, so it wasn’t until it was too later that we realized that these weren’t people. Once we managed to convince the Russians to let us take over, no one had the guts to kill these guys. They all sort of lost their moxy. Eventually, one Marine yelled ‘Shoot those fucking things!’ and that was the exact order I gave my men. No matter how much we shot at them, they kept getting back up. It wasn’t until we lost most of our men that one Marine found that a headshot stops them. By the time we learned that, we were fighting a defensive battle. I finally requested Sherman support to evac our remaining forces, but our request was answer by an order. They wanted enter the asylum and retrieve a high value target. We refused to comply unless we had our tanks. Pretty soon we got overran and I ordered a retreat. I was almost to the edge of the city when I realized I left our radioman back there to die.”
“He saw me with my Springfield,” Riley continued, “And ordered me to come back with him to save to the kid.”
“Right. After I grabbed Riley up, we dashed back to the asylum. By that time, the creatures had dispersed and where attacking civilians. We found the boy in the same spot we left him. He was face-down in a ditch still clinging to the radio, and his leg had a huge chuck ripped out of it. When we flipped him over, we found he was still alive, with him yelling into the radio ‘Are you receiving? Are you receiving?’ The bastard was so messed up that he didn’t even realize he wasn’t pressing the talk button. He didn’t even see us stand over him and take the radio away. We figured he was a lost cause and ran as fast as we could out of the city. Once we reached the limits, we found the Russians pushing forward and killing every Marine trying to exit the city. We turned-to to avoid the Soviet advancement and took shelter in a basement. Eventually, we left it and spent the next few days, wondering the city, until today. We finally found the asylum again and secured it. Figure we could look for whatever HVT command wanted us to find.”
“Poor Thomas,” said Riley, “I can’t help but wounded if we could have saved him.”
“Wait!” said Wesley, “What was his name!?”
Wesley reached into his pocket and presented Thomas’ dog tags.
Chapter 4
December 23, 1941
Der Riese German Weapons and Arms Facility
Years before the Allied offences on Germany, the Germans were the world superpower. Their technology, strategic might, and commitment to total war propelled them to mythic proportions. Had it not been for their horrendous intentions, they might have resembled the perfect race. This fact horrifies and keeps me awake to this day, even so long after their fall. The Giant Weapons and Arms Facility was a testament to their might.
Before the secrete war against the undead began however, I all started with one young man. So much death, destruction, and misery spawning from the choices of one man, and later to all be corrected by the same.
Edward was a small, skittish man. Everyday within the factory, he would go about his daily routes, ensuring every man was doing his job. He had been working here for a long time gradually working his way up to become the head scientist’s assistant. He would occasionally be head muttering to himself as he did his daily duties, without even pausing to speak to others. Whether it was developing new weapons for the German Army, or finding a new power source, something of the highest level of secrecy was always being produced behind the walls of Der Riese.
Edward arrived to the side of his mentor, Doctor Ludwig Maxis. Maxis, with his thinning head of grey hair, large coke-bottle glasses, and white lab coat looked like an image of death and modern medical science. At the sight of his new assistant, he jut his jaw out and stood on his toes to match Edward’s height.
“Ah,” he said, “You must be my new apprentice. I take it you have easily gotten accustom to Group 935?”
“Very much sir. It is my…” Edward paused as he tried to find the right words, “Honor to serve the Third Reich.”
In all honesty, for Edward it wasn’t. The Nazi’s goals where too liberal for his taste. Create a perfect world? No. Edward joined so he could watch people die. Slowly.
“As you must know, we at Group 935 are working under the utmost secrecy. No one else must know about what we are doing here except us. Not even many scientists working here know the truth of this facility.”
“How is that possible?”
“I am sure you know of our DG-2? It is a portable tesla coil infused with a mix of super-heavy elements and electric conductors such as Indium to produce a new substance we call Xerum 525, with produces an electric charge that can be discharged at a biological target. Aside from a moderate radiation sickness no ill effects are reported about the user. We predict that mass production of the wunderwaffe—” literally translates to “wonderweapon” in German, “Within the next several years. Most scientists think that that is the secret to Der Riese. They are naïve. People like you and me, Edward, are not. We may see the truth.”
“So there is another weapon?”
“Not just a weapon, a legacy. Come, I will show you.”
Maxis walked Edward out of the factory and toward a hangar. On the hanger door was a large atom with 935 written on it clutched in a fist. It was the sign for the secrete liege of scientist that Edward was working with. Maxis lifted the hanger door open to reveal a spectacle in front of Edward. He rushed in and lowered the door behind him. In front of Edward was a cylindrical chamber about eight feet in diameter. It resembled a large bell and glow a vivid purple in the darkness of the hanger. In it was on man turning the hinges inside the machine.
“What the hell is this?” asked Edward in wonder.
“We call it the Die Glocke. It runs of the same element used in the DG-2. The element itself was collected during an expedition into Tunguska Russia and transported here for study. It works by harnessing the power of the electric charge and using it to recreate a duplicate version in the form of pure radiation. This radiation can alter its own half-life to rebuild cells instead of having them decay and bringing them back through the aether point. The remains of the original copy are destroyed, leaving the ‘new copy’ totally unharmed.”
“You can’t mean…”
“Matter transference.”
“A teleporter!?”
“Is it really so crazy?”
“Dr. Maxis, it’s brilliant!” Edward couldn’t stop himself from manic laughter.
“We are doing a demonstration on a living subject tomorrow I expect you to be here to witness it!”
“I shall!”
At this point the man in the machine crawled out and spoke. “I am Hanz. I have spent a descent amount of my time developing this. If this goes right, we may have a chance to end the new American threat before I becomes too much of a problem.”
“Now…” began Edward, “Why do that?”
Dr. Maxis gave a croaked sneer towards Edward. Just then, a small young girl ran in toward Maxis. She carried a small teddy bear with a torn arm. She herself wore small pajamas and had long brown hair
“Papa! Papa!” she cried.
“What is it now, Samantha?” ask Maxis.
“Teddy’s arm broke!”
“Again with that damn bear? You mother gave you that you know.”
“I am sorry Papa.”
“No need… I’ll get it fixed.” He turned to Edward, “In such a factory with no mother, that bear is here only friend.”
“Really?” said Edward. He crouched down to meet eyes this Samantha. “Well, Sam, I’ll tell you what. From now on, I’ll be your friend.”
Samantha looked as if I was the best thing that ever happened and gave Edward a big hug. Edward didn’t mind. It was his first friend too.
Chapter 5
Back in Berlin
“Goddamn Vs!” Fredricks shouted, clasping his head in his hands.
“Whats?” asked Wesley.
“Vs,” Riley cut in. “Since the start of this fiasco we Marines have come up with several names for the creatures. Berserkers, demons, ghouls, but it so turns out that the locals in this area already had a name for them. They call them the Verruckt, or insane. The name stuck. None of the locals we’ve ran into liked to talk about them, but something tells me they’ve seen them before.”
“Thomas was alive… we could have saved him.”
“Not really,” Oxford cut in. “He was half dead, he was bitten by one of those things, and he was mentally destroyed. He might as well have been one of the zombies.”
“Zombies?”
“That’s what we call them. We don’t know much, but we know you don’t want to get bit by one. They make you sick. Sick until you die and become one of them.”
“Whatever they are, they’re dead.”
Wesley observed the sun as it began to sink past the horizon. “Unless we die first… We need some light. Everyone split up. Look for a light switch.”
The men split off into groups of two looking for a switch of some sort. Wesley and Riley walked off together into the autopsy room of the asylum. Wesley detected the strong smell of flesh and blood. He froze in his tracks. A soft whisper came from the drawers. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and he almost shrieked when he slid the drawer out. Instantly, bucket loads of blood flowed from the rack. Bones were left on the rack, scrapped clean.
“Damn,” Riley cursed. “I don’t even want to know the story behind that mess.”
“A lot of crap must have happened here,” Wesley responded.
Meanwhile, Oxford and Fredricks searched the operation room. A single operating chair lay in the center of the room. To it, a severed arm was strapped in.
“Oh my God…” Fredricks began.
A trail of blood ran from the operating chair, to the supply cabinet with some gauze hanging out of it, across the hall, and up the stairs. Oxford started to fallow the trail when Fredricks stopped him. It was unwise to venture away from the group.
“Find a switch yet?” Oxford called.
Wesley scanned the walls looking for a source of light. Eventually, he found a switch in a door way. “Yup,” he said. As he flicked the switch, he recited, “And the Lord said... Let there be light!”
He swung the switch and almost flew back as a large electrical shock ran through his arm. The loud snap of a breaking circuit and the power of the entire asylum sprang to life. A near by soda machine started to play a loud jingle. The asylum speakers began to blast classical music. Riley grabbed the switch in an attempt to shut it off, and with a great feat, snapped the leaver back down. Another pop was heard and everything fell silent. Wesley watched in horror the double doors behind him and Riley locked shut, separating them from the two others.
“What was that?” called Riley.
“Short circuit,” shouted Oxford on the other side of the door. “We must have re-circuited the power, activating everything, and then we blew a fuse. Nothing we can’t fix. All we need to do is reactivate the power. The generator has to be somewhere around here.”
Wesley hoisted himself up. “We need to get these doors open!” He tried to force them open, but they wouldn’t budge.
“It’s no use,” Fredricks said, “These are biological containment doors. There used to keep patents away from healthy people. There’s almost no way to pry them open.”
“Well how are we supposed to get them out of there?” asked Oxford.
Wesley looked onto the wall. Strewn across the walls in blood read ‘Power will reunite you’.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Wesley.
Riley went rigid and raised his Springfield as he saw a zombie pull itself out of the dirt. “Hurry it up, okay?” he asked. “I think our little music display invited over some new friends.”
The zombie heaved itself from its shallow grave and gave out a bone rattling moan before creeping from the central courtyard to the building.
“Steady that rifle, Riley,” said Wesley as he searched the room for any sort of way off the ground floor of the asylum. “Oxford you and Fredricks go find the generator. Reactivate the power and meet back here.”
“Gotcha!” yelled Oxford. “Got any other weapons?” he asked Fredericks.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got two M1 Garands by the stairs, three frags, and a whole mess of rifle grenades. Come on, we need to get that power on.”
Oxford swapped his machine pistol for the rifle and loaded his pockets with grenades.
“Were you guys riflemen?”
“Yeah. We packed all these explosives thinking we’d use um’ up in the first few minutes. When we found out that it was mostly flamethrowers requisitioned, we learned that we wouldn’t be using them any time soon.”
The men used all their strength to pull a stack of chair halfway up the stairs to barricade it. Once up the stairs, they walked out onto the balcony of the building that overlooked the courtyard. Large mounds of dirt rose from the ground above shallow poppers graves in which small packs of zombies were rising from. Fredricks leaned ageist the chain link fence that was used to keep mentally ill people from jumping from the second floor.
“Lock and load boys… This is gonna get nasty.”
To be continued...
