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Best Laid Plans

JASON CORDOVA & ERIC S. BROWN

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

Or at least, that’s what he grew up hearing. Strange how a Scottish saying could infiltrate a strict Bavarian family, he thought as he noticed a strange smell in the apartment. It took him a few moments to realize that the smell was Paris itself, no longer being crowded out by the familiar scents of Chinese cooking. The family downstairs must have contracted the same disease that had been talked about in the news that day, he figured. That did bring him back to the discussion at hand, though.

“There is a strange illness rampaging across Europe,” Günter Schneider said to the men assembled around the dining room table. He jabbed a finger at the detailed, hand-drawn blueprints that were spread out across the top of it. The form of the Louvre was obvious to all involved. It had been their life for the past six months, and they knew it better than they knew their own apartment. Many hours had been spent within the museum taking notes, as well as infiltrating the security personnel with one of their own, to achieve such a perfect floor plan.

“The Avian Flu, perhaps? Nobody is sick yet, ja, so we do not have to worry about this. Many staff called in sick, or have acted rather strangely during their shifts. This has left a hole in the perimeter of the security. We had agreed to wait a month more before we strike, but this opportunity is too good to pass up. I say we push the time frame forward and strike tonight.”

“You think it will work on short notice?” Hans Flick asked, his tone filled with skepticism.

“Nothing can stop us from succeeding,” Günter declared.

“Except for the zombies…” Hans muttered in a low tone. The others around the table nodded in agreement.

“There are no such things as zombies,” Günter said. He was growing tired of this argument with his men.

“No zombies? Then we shall call them dead people who walk around eating the faces of others,” Hans threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Günter, mein Freund, rational people do not act like this. It is a sign, one that is telling us to not attempt this. Not now. Not while the world seems to be at a tipping point.” His face suddenly brightened. “Perhaps they are within the confines of the Bundestag, ja?”

“We do not know that they are undead,” Günter reminded him, though the mental image of certain Bundestag members being eaten alive warmed the darkest cockles of his heart. “They could have ingested…what is it, bath salts?”

Oui, he has a point.” The team’s inside person and lone Frenchman, Chetan Neghiz, spoke in a soft voice. The security guard shrugged his shoulders as Hans glared at his apparent betrayal. “We do not know that they are dead. What we do know is that the Louvre is practically unguarded right now. Monsignor Lajoinie has asked me to come in tonight to help secure jewelry and smaller items in the unlikely event that the Louvre must close for the duration of this…crisis. So Günter is correct—this must happen tonight.”

“Sooner or later someone is going to find that USB drive Chetan hooked up to their servers,” Folsom Duncan said around his cigar. The American nodded thoughtfully. “To be honest, I’m surprised nobody’s found it already. Any old cell phone could have tried to access it and been denied. That would have gotten me curious, that’s for damn sure. Sorry, babbling again. That WiFi is only good for up to one hundred yards, and the signal’s gonna be faint as is. The fewer people with their cell phones inside, the better it will be for me. We need to go tonight.”

“So it is settled, yes?” Günter looked around and saw affirmative nods. Only Hans seemed uncertain. He glared but decided to let it go for now. “It is settled then. Tonight we shall burgle the Louvre as we have planned. In two weeks time we shall be in the Cayman Islands, drinking champagne. Once our fence moves the goods to his Russian friend, we shall live the rest of our lives as billionaires.”

“Besides, we’ve had six good dry runs so far,” Folsom added. He looked at each of them and smiled. “What could possibly go wrong?”

* * *

“This,” Chetan said through tightly clenched teeth, “is why one does not tempt fate, Folsom Duncan. May there be a pox upon your house.”

En route to the Louvre that night they learned three very important, earth-shattering truths about themselves as they drove through the dark streets of Paris.

The first truth: the reports of the Avian Flu and bath salts turned out to be grossly incorrect. There were people fleeing across Champs-Elysee, and naked men and women in hot pursuit. The first few had been amusing to the four men, but as they drew closer to the Louvre it became obvious that the naked people were no longer living. Indeed, it appeared that Hans had been correct and Paris—perhaps all of France, perhaps all of Europe—had been invaded by zombies.

Oddly enough, the zombies milled aimlessly around the Peugeot, ignoring the electric SUV while pursuing other cars roaring down the road. It got to the point that Folsom quit trying to dodge the fallen zombies that were struck by other vehicles. This, however, was far more disturbing than watching the zombies chase down and eat unaffected human beings.

The second truth was a harsher one. High-end jewelry thieves, as they styled themselves, were typically not murderers. The mangled corpses of the zombies they left lying in the road behind them affected each of them differently, with Hans growing more disturbed with each passing bump. To Günter, it seemed as though Folsom had the least trouble with the uneven drive. He would normally have chalked it up to typical American brashness except that he had known Folsom since they had met at Cambridge ten years before. The so-called “American cowboy” was anything but.

The third and final truth was one which they would never openly admit. Each and every one of them was greedy. A zombie apocalypse could not contain their greed. If Günter or any of the others had felt differently, the heist would not ever have been executed while the world burned. Especially after seeing the pyre that the Montmartre district had become.

Their planned entry point was less congested than anticipated, all things considered. Even so, there were a few zombies wandering around the loading dock. Their heads swiveled almost as one when the bright, LED headlights flashed across them. Chetan pulled the SUV as close to the loading dock as he dared and parked. Two zombies fell on top of the hood from the raised landing dock, their piteous moans muffled through the windshield. Chetan yelped and turned on the window wipers. The arms began to glide across the window and a spurt of cleaner helped clear some of the collected dirt from its face.

The zombies remained on the hood, growling.

“Window wipers? Really?” Folsom asked with a frightened giggle. Chetan chuckled nervously. He turned the wipers off.

“We have no other choice,” Günter decided. “Chetan, you close the door to the dock as planned. Try to hurry before any other zombies make it down here. Hans, you and I will get rid of the zombies. Folsom, you may proceed.”

Allons-y,” Chetan muttered and swung open the driver’s door. The zombies turned as one and focused on the Frenchman. He slammed the SUV door shut and sprinted to the automatic rolling doors of the loading dock, the two zombies hot in pursuit. Their howls echoed loudly. Answering howls responded from outside the loading area.

Folsom produced an ancient-looking .38 from the pocket of his jacket. “Did anyone else think to bring a gun?”

Günter glowered at the American. “I said no guns! We are thieves, not killers!”

“As long as you don’t count our completely organic road bumps out there in the street,” Folsom muttered as he shoved the pistol back into his pocket. The motion had far too much reluctance in it for Günter to remain happy. The American grabbed his laptop from the floor and booted it up. Moments later he smiled. “I’m in. Amazing reception down here. The dry runs up top only gave me two bars, max. I’m getting four down here. Sweet.”

“Hans, there is a prybar on the floor,” Günter said. “Hand it to me.”

“Why?” Hans asked as he picked up the metal rod from the plush, carpeted floor of the vehicle. He passed it forward.

“Because I must clear the dock so Chetan can get back,” Günter said as he grabbed the crowbar. He took a deep breath before he swung open his door. “Gott mit uns.”

The first zombie to reach him appeared to be a young one, about to start university. Günter swung the crowbar with all his might and cracked the skull of the undead. It staggered under the blow but came right back at him, unfeeling and uncaring about the pain. Günter took a step back and jabbed the pointed end of the rod into the zombie’s face. Through a combination of skill and blind luck the point drove straight into the eye socket of the zombie. It jerked violently as Günter twisted the crowbar and yanked it back out. The zombie managed to remain on its feet, though it was obvious that the crowbar had done significant damage. Günter gabbed the rod with two hands and swung again, putting all his weight and strength into the swing. The bar opened the zombie’s head like a ripe melon, blood and brain matter spraying all over him. The undead collapsed to the concrete floor, finished.

Günter stood still for a moment, hands shaking as he clutched the gore-covered crowbar. He looked at his hands, which were coated in blood, then down at the zombie, which was clearly dead. A thought suddenly came to him and he bit down a manic giggle.

Is an undead dead when it dies?

Günter heard the doors of the loading dock slam shut as Chetan managed to close the bar. He screamed something in French and barely managed to escape from the clutches of the two zombies pursuing him. Another zombie appeared from around the corner, drawn to the SUV by the howls of the others. It appeared to have been a little old lady once, though the gaping maw and blood-curdling shrieks put to rest any doubts of what Günter should do. He swung the crowbar and struck her in the neck. The frail neck combined with the German’s strength decapitated the zombie. Her head went flying through the air and struck the SUV’s rear passenger door while her body rolled on the ground.

He shook himself and turned around. Chetan was trying to make it to the SUV but was cut off. Günter looked around quickly but saw no other zombies. Without a second thought he charged the undead by Chetan, his crowbar high over his head, a war cry in his throat.

The undead howled in reply but Günter was having none of it. Ensuring that he had a solid grip on the blood-covered crowbar, he drove the point right into the face of the first zombie. The force of the blow jerked the crowbar from his grasp, leaving him unarmed. The zombie dropped like a sack of potatoes, but the second was near. It howled and grabbed him. They tumbled to the ground, the teeth of the undead coming within inches of his neck. He screamed in fear and rage as he tried to push it off of him, but the zombie was strong.

“Still no gun?” Folsom called out from the SUV, his window rolled partly down.

“No! Gun!” Günter screamed back. He turned his face away from the snapping teeth of the undead and put his forearm into its throat. “Help!”

Brain matter suddenly coated his face as the zombie’s head exploded above him. The dead weight of the undead fell fully on top of him. Günter struggled with the corpse for a moment before someone helped pull it off of him. He found himself looking at the pale face of Hans. He was holding a long metal pipe.

“Ich fand ein Rohr,” Hans muttered, forgetting for a moment that neither Chetan nor Folsom spoke his language. “Sorry…it is a good pipe. I shall keep this pipe.”

“Gut.” Günter nodded, panting slightly as he tried to stand up. He slipped in blood and brain matter but managed to climb to his feet. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Gut germacht.”

“Any more of them?” Chetan asked from the far side of the car. His face was sweaty despite the cooler air of the loading bay.

“No, it appears that they are all dead,” Günter said as he switched back to English. He wiped his bloody hands on his pants before he knelt down and picked up his messy crowbar. He grabbed his Bluetooth and slipped it into his ear. “Comms check.”

“The app is up and running…now,” Folsom said. “Get your ears in, people.”

Chetan and Hans both managed to get their Bluetooth in without too much hassle, though Hans left a bloody streak on his cheek. They each checked in with Folsom, who gave them a thumbs up. They looked back at their leader, who was trying not to look at the zombies on the ground.

“Schnell,” Günter said. “It probably is worse inside, and I do not want to get caught in the Mall if the power goes out. That would be…bad.”

* * *

Chetan was wearing his security outfit just in case, but if there were any guards still inside, the group did not encounter them. The lights had remained on throughout their trip through the Mall, just as Günter had predicted back at the apartment. Even the Starbucks had been deserted, which came as a surprise to them, Folsom most of all.

“I mean, I expected maybe some hipster yuppie zombie demanding his half-caff skinny latte or something,” the American had marveled over the comms as the team moved deeper into the Louvre. He was safely ensconced in the SUV still, armed with a laptop and locked doors. Günter was mildly jealous, though the original plan had not involved zombies of any kind. “I’m kinda disappointed, truth be told. Not even one.”

Günter, who had never fully understood his American friend’s sense of humor, ignored the jibe. He led them up the stairs and to the first floor slowly. He scanned the area but saw no sign of guards or zombies.

“Let’s go,” he said. A howl from down the hall sent shivers up his spine. Something was approaching them, and fast. “Hans!” Günter shouted in warning as a zombie came out of the shadows near the display where Hans stood.

Hans grabbed a small marble head that looked vaguely Roman and swung it with all his strength. The solid sculpture brained the zombie, dropping it to the ground. Hans leaned over and smashed the sculpture against the zombie’s head a few more times just to make sure before he stood back up. His face, chest and arms were covered in gore. He was grinning.

“You just used a second century Roman statue to kill a zombie!” Chetan howled, the cry filled with pain and anger. Hans looked at the bust in his hand and shrugged, his grin disappearing. Chetan snatched the sculpture out of the Berliner’s hand and began to wipe the bits of skull and brain matter from the marble as best as he could. “Now it’s covered in gore and…and…merde! This is a priceless artifact! Have you no shame?”

Günter shook his head. He had been worried about Hans losing his grip on his sanity, but this proved the man was at least willing to fight for his life when it was on the line.

“I’m robbing the Louvre during the end of civilization,” Hans reminded the Frenchman as he saw Günter looking at him. “I have no shame.”

Günter patted Hans on the back, a smile slowly forming on his face. “I might have done the same.”

Je peux sentir ta chatte…” Chetan muttered and looked away, angry.

“Quiet,” Günter said, his focus settling on the job once more. “This area looks to be clear of them. We will move to the next floor and get all that we came for.”

“Aw, c’mon guys,” Folsom whined through the Bluetooth. “At least go back and steal the Mona Lisa for me.”

“No, that was not part of the plan,” Günter replied. “We stick to the plan.”

“But…the Mona Lisa?!” Folsom continued to protest.

“No.”

“You suck, dude.”

Günter did not have time to reply. More zombies were waiting for them around the bend in the next corridor.

“Quick! Into that room!” Chetan called out. They ran into the antechamber and looked around. It was filled with paintings that Günter did not recognize. Chetan, however, was as comfortable as one could be with a horde of zombies pursuing them. “Down that hall, then turn right!”

“Where does that lead?” Günter asked as they ran, their breath starting to come in short gasps. A painful stitch in his side began to form.

“To the other stairwell,” Chetan replied. The Frenchman, in spite of the copious amounts of wine and foul-smelling cigarettes he regularly partook of, seemed to be handling the run just fine. More howls erupted farther down the hall as more zombies took up pursuit. “Merde! Left up here!”

Günter slid a bit as they rounded the corner, Hans hot on his heels as they followed Chetan through what was rapidly becoming a maze to the Germans.

“How…much…further?” Günter asked between breaths.

“Left, then two rights, then up the stairs,” Chetan replied. The bastard was not even short of breath, Günter saw.

“This would be hilarious if not for the zombies chasing you,” Folsom commented over the Bluetooth. “You run in one room, the zombies chase you, you appear to run into another room, they chase you.”

“How are you watching this?” Chetan asked. Günter was curious as well.

“That USB drive you hooked up to their servers for me also gave me access to the security cameras, as well as their sound system,” Folsom replied. “In fact…hold up, I need to download something.”

Ich werde verdammt töten,” Günter hissed. The stitch in his side was growing worse.

“What was that? That sounded kind of garbled over the comm,” Folsom said. “Ah, found it! You’re gonna love this.”

Saxophone music suddenly blared over the intercom of the Louvre, drowning out the howls of the zombies and the thundering footsteps of the men who sought to rob the museum. It was a frantic saxophone, with accompanying music. It was familiar to Günter but he could not immediately place the song. He ran into another room and suddenly it clicked. His eyes widened.

Benny Hill?!” Günter fairly screamed. “This is not funny!”

“I know, right? This shit is hilarious! I would put this up on YouTube…well, except for the fact that we’re robbing the Louvre, I mean,” Folsom laughed. “Who doesn’t love a good Yackety Sax scene?”

I will mount your balls on the wall of my mega yacht!” Günter promised.

“Somebody’s testy…get it? Testy?” The music stopped. Folsom gave a long-suffering sigh. “Germans have no sense of humor…”

“We lost them,” Chetan said and slowed to a jog. He looked around. “We’re close. There, the stairwell. This will lead us directly to the room we want.” Gathering their breath, they pressed onwards up to the second floor.

The group ducked into the smaller room near the stairwell and found their target—the crown jewels of Louis XV. The display room appeared to be empty of zombies, though Günter was quickly learning that even the slightest bit of darkness could hide one of the creatures. He pulled out a small aerosol can and began to spray the edges of the glass. The glass began to sizzle as the acid chewed through it. The other two men carefully removed the glass to expose the jewels within.

There were dozens of necklaces, earrings and pearls on display. Prominently featured was a crown covered in gems and diamonds. A scepter similarly decorated lay next to it.

Another howl echoed from somewhere in the Louvre. Günter nervously looked around but spotted nothing. He motioned at the other two.

“Quickly,” he said, his breathing finally back to normal. “We do not have much time.”

“The crown looks very expensive,” Hans said, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Chetan snorted in disgust.

“Covered in fake jewels,” he said. “Louis XV was a cheap bastard. He was forced to wear this cheap imitation because he used the real jewels to pay off his debts.”

“What a shame,” Hans shook his head. Günter knew from past experience that his friend was trying to focus on the task at hand. It helped block out the carnage that they had wrought on the zombies in the loading dock.

Hans picked up a gorgeous necklace decorated with green gemstones. “What about this one? Is it a fake?”

“Those are real,” Chetan confirmed. “They weren’t on the list because they were supposed to be cleaned this week and taken off display. Since le fin du monde has decided to occur…” He shrugged. “We would be fools to leave these behind.”

“Good,” Hans smiled and tossed the necklace into the silk bag.

“Not like that!” Chetan fairly howled. “Do you know how long it will take to untangle that now? You are a savage! Günter, why did we bring this débile along?”

Günter felt a headache replace the pain in his ribs. Perhaps he could get away with one murder in his lifetime? Other than a zombie, in any case.

They cleared out the rest of the jewels, including the ones that were not originally on their list. Günter knew that they would make them wealthier, even if the end of the world might interrupt their flow of cash from their Russian benefactor. Still, they were almost priceless, and they could be used as barter should there be more zombies blocking their way to the Caymans.

“Chetan, we need to find a different way out,” Günter suggested. “Folsom, is there any way you can pick us up somewhere other than the loading dock?”

“Maybe,” the American answered in a hesitant voice. “I might have an idea…”

“If we continue down this corridor we will see more display rooms,” Chetan replied immediately. “The only exit that way is the north stairwell. That can take us to the first floor, and then further down into the Mall.”

“I thought we were going to avoid the Mall?” Hans asked as they hurried down the hall, away from the zombies who might be pursuing them.

“That was before I was reminded of the Starbucks,” Chetan answered in an anxious tone. “Somebody thought it was a good idea to put that in. I wish to burn it down.”

The Frenchman was a purist, Hans knew. He would always find something to be unhappy about, whether it be the differing brush strokes between eighteenth-century Dutch painting masters or if the Louvre allowed a Starbucks. It would never be a mystery to Hans why Chetan was perpetually single.

The trio encountered a few more of the scattered dead as they raced through the building but no actual zombies. The dead appeared to be half-eaten, which Günter knew would give him nightmares for years to come. Their last bit of trouble met them at the door to the Mall—or rather, outside of it. The street outside was packed with the undead.

“Where are you, Folsom?” Günter growled as the zombies outside began to howl in earnest. They could not see any sign of regular people.

Headlights appeared in the midst of the crowd of zombies. Günter blinked for a moment, trying to get his eyes to adjust at the increasing brightness before he realized that the SUV was headed right for him. He dove to the side as the SUV came plowing through the glass doors like a metal juggernaut. Folsom slammed on the brakes as he reached their position, causing the vehicle to slide around perfectly in front of them. Günter picked himself up off the floor and along with the others, hastily climbed inside.

The zombies swarmed the SUV. Chetan kicked one in the face just before it could get inside.

“See?” Folsom said as Chetan fell onto the back seat, gasping for breath. Günter slammed the door on one of the zombie’s hands, breaking it. Hans climbed over the front seat to get into the back where the others were. The American accelerated and the SUV began rolling out of the Louvre and down the packed streets, dragging the zombie alongside. More crashed into the grill and fender but they did not stop the determined driver. Another bump and the zombie that had been stuck fell away, leaving its hand as a parting gift. “And you guys made fun of me for playing so much Grand Theft Auto.”

“Get us out of here!” Hans demanded loudly.

“I’m trying!” Folsom shouted back at him. “Zombies! I can’t go too fast or they’ll bust the car up more. It’s barely hanging on as it is! I think I broke something important when I crashed through those doors.”

“I thought you said you could drive?” Günter snapped, his temper finally at a boiling point. He began to quote the American, heavy Southern accent and all. “‘I roll dirty on GTA and I drive the same.’”

“Screw you,” Folsom grunted but shifted into another gear. He flipped the four-wheel drive button and the SUV lurched as it activated. He floored it, plowing through the sea of zombies. Disgusting bits flew up and got stuck on the windshield wipers. Their dark blue SUV began to look decidedly reddish. “Next time, I’ll just leave you in the middle of the damn zombie apocalypse, you ungrateful Kraut!”

“Just get us to the Le Havre,” Günter ordered, his voice back to normal. “You have the route mapped?”

“As best as I could,” Folsom nodded, the momentary anger gone as quickly as it came. He turned the SUV down another crowded street. “Haussman gets us to the Normandy route fastest, I think. It’s the most direct route.”

“The boat will wait for us until noon tomorrow.” Günter consulted his phone. Service was still up and running, though his reception bars were low. “We have nine hours to make the two hundred kilometer drive.”

“Piece of cake,” Folsom said as he plowed through another zombie. “What’s the worst—”

“Shut up! Don’t you say it!” Chetan cried out.

Günter sighed. It was the end of the world and this was the best that he could come up with. He rubbed his forehead. Sand. Women. Warm weather. The fact that everyone in the SUV was now a billionaire. He could handle this. He could deal with their peculiarities. He had done it for the past nine months, since the plan took shape. He could live with this for just a little while longer.

“The Bahamas will be nice,” he predicted, trying to cheer himself up. For a newly minted billionaire, he was very unhappy. “Good food. Swimming. Warm waters. Naked women. None of this zombie nonsense, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Hans agreed.

They drove on, uninterrupted save for the occasional bump in the road from where a zombie fell beneath their tires, and a wave of zombies behind in hot pursuit.


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