“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.
When Mr. T arrived at the island of Neo New York, he was greeted only with hostility. The small sailboat he had taken from Dr. Wyslen’s island was stopped a mile off shore by the NNY Coast Guard. Two ships pulled up alongside his boat and he was forced to allow them to board.
Six men with automatic rifles came aboard, all of the weapons pointed at his face. Mr. T raised his hands.
“Are you armed?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Mr. T don’t need weapons to protect himself,” said Mr. T.
“Are you alone?” the young officer asked Mr. T.
“Yeah.”
After they searched his ship, the Lieutenant asked some more questions.
“Do you have business on the island or are you just looking for safe harbor?”
Mr. T responded, “I was sent by Dr. Jacob Wyslen of the Z-19 Project.”
“Never heard of him.”
“That’s not my problem,” Mr. T said. “He told me to give his research to the zombie research division on this island.”
“Zombie research division?” The Lieutenant laughed. “We don’t have a zombie research division.”
“Then who’s working on solving the living dead problem on the mainland?”
The soldiers look at each other with large smiles, then look back at Mr. T.
“They gave up on that decades ago,” said the Lieutenant. “The zombie problem hasn’t been a problem of ours for a very long time.”
“Then you shouldn’t have given up so easily,” Mr. T said. “My friend Dr. Wyslen continued his research over the past fifty years until the day he died. He finally came up with something that just might be a solution to make the mainland safe again.”
“And what solution might that be?”
“It’s a kind of zombie repellent device. If I can get the right minds looking at this research, I believe this device can be constructed.”
“It sounds like a load of bull,” said the Lieutenant.
“You don’t have to believe me. You just have to let me through. Leave the believing up to the scientists who might actually understand this jibber jabber.”
“Fine,” said the Lieutenant. “But your boat will be impounded. You’ll have to ride with us.”
“Whatever you say,” said Mr. T. “Just as long as I get this research into the right hands.”
When all of the zombies are writhing on the ground, Haroon and Mr. T climb down the ladder and continue on their way. In the distance, in every direction they look, there are hundreds of zombies staggering through the streets.
“More and more of those things are coming out,” says Mr. T. “And it’s going to be dark soon. We better find some shelter for the night if we ever want to see tomorrow.”
Haroon contemplates the zombie numbers up ahead. Then he says, “We shouldn’t find cover yet, not until it’s dark. We have to make as much progress as possible if we’re ever going to catch up to the others.”
“I don’t like it,” says Mr. T, “but whatever you say.”
“We shouldn’t have too much of a problem now that we have this weapon on our side.”
“I already told you, I don’t trust that gun. It’s a great invention, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not something Mr. T would rely on.”
“It’ll work just fine,” Haroon says. “Trust me.”
Mr. T nods. Then they move on, deeper into the city, deeper into the ocean of the living dead.
They didn’t allow Mr. T to enter Platinum to meet with the top researchers who lived there. One of the scientists came out to meet him in Copper, and by the looks of it they sent the lowest ranking member of the
