Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State

by Dalton, Charlie

  The SWAT team entered. No one greeted them or attacked them. The men remained vigilant and alert.

  The room was a simple one-bedroom apartment. It had an open-plan living and kitchen area and a storage room to the right with no door. It overflowed with coats and shoes. Beside that was a narrow corridor that fed in either direction. One door to the bathroom, the other to the only bedroom.

  On the floor, lying in a broken puddle of glass and plastic, were the items they’d heard from outside. An old lamp and a figurine that had been balancing on the sideboard.

  The team split in half. Private Leslie’s team filtered into the narrow space like water. A pause as Officer Leslie turned her ear to the door.

  A groan. Low and distinct.

  It might be one of them.

  Another nod and they shunted it open and entered the room in quick succession.

  The couple on the bed didn’t stop what they were doing as the armed response unit filtered inside. They were too busy in the middle of. . . what they were doing.

  The man turned from his awkward position and glanced at them.

  “Be right with you,” he said. “Give me a sec.”

  “An orb,” Private Leslie said, clearing her throat. “Your neighbor informed us you found an orb.”

  “A what?” the man said, measuring his pace.

  On the table were the “orbs” the old lady must have seen. They were attached on a long string.

  Private Leslie raised the radio to her lips.

  “That’s a negative,” he said. “I repeat, there’s no danger here.”

  Except of losing my lunch.

  “Sorry, uh, to bother you,” she said.

  The couple hadn’t stopped. The pair’s groaning followed them as they exited the room.

  “You don’t need to go,” the woman in the bed said. “I like a lady in uniform.”

  22.

  TOMMY AND his team stood watching the monitors in the main control center they’d moved to the town of Dustbowl. They stood, for a moment, in shocked silence. Emin had her hand over Sean’s eyes. They’d been watching the Private Leslie scene. It’d taken them by surprise.

  “Isn’t anyone going to make a funny comment?” Guy said.

  “No,” Tommy said. “And we’d prefer it if you didn’t either.”

  Guy opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

  “All right,” he said. “But you missed some real humdingers.”

  Now that the x-rated image had gone, Emin removed her hands from Sean.

  “Is that all of the calls?” she said. “Three calls, no orbs.”

  “Yes, but more are coming in,” Tommy said. “We can’t stop checking them. Send the teams to the next locations. They might still discover another orb.”

  They needed to discover another one. It would be the next crumb in the trail. They were still blind, uncertain which direction Michael might have gone. Even if he moved along the corridors and winding country roads, he was ultimately heading somewhere. Probably to a large city. Houston or Dallas. They’d locked them both down as best they could. Either one could easily be his target.

  But which one?

  They needed a stroke of luck, a filament of happenstance. They needed something to give Michael’s plans away.

  They needn’t wait long.

  23.

  ON THE opposite side of the street, a newly-installed team of construction workers dug with shovels and pickaxes. More were already being ferried in.

  After the city had been quarantined, many of those outside had been housed in special settlements. First, they were taken to their former homes to see what remained of their homes, to check if any members of their family were still alive.

  One in a thousand were lucky.

  Some wished to leave immediately, preferring to begin in another city rather than the one that had been obliterated by the virus. Those willing to begin rebuilding excavated a small corner of the city where they would start again.

  Then there were the few who emerged after the zombie horde had been cut down by the military. They came out with their grimy hands held up, starving for real food.

  Due to the lack of entrances into the city, the building machinery was airlifted in. The military searched the remains of the city for former building sites and dealerships. Some trucks had been abandoned right there on the street. There weren’t enough drivers, so the military provided them.

  Every so often they came across a zombie the military sweep had missed. Few were in good condition. Some had gotten locked in rooms or ensnared themselves on hooks. The military maintained a presence at all times. The builders didn’t mind the soldiers standing around all day, so long as they remained vigilant.

  Samantha blocked the sun with a hand and watched as a Chinook helicopter carried a small temporary research facility. A ring of soldiers stood to attention around an area they’d cleared earlier. The chopper placed the small building on the ground.

  The research facility had been specially-made with struts on the bottom that absorbed the impact and squeaked as the pressure was relieved. Engineers leaped into action to ensure the center was correctly set up.

  Samantha waited for the duststorm to die down before she approached the temporary structure. This was where they were going to be carrying out their research. A team of a dozen scientists with a variety of skills and specializations were on their way.

  It was Samantha’s job to marshal them.

  Gah!

  In the past, she’d been team leader on many projects, but nothing as big as this. Especially not with the fate of the world resting on her shoulders.

  “Excuse me, Dr. DeCoveney?” a man said, approaching her.

  He pushed up the glasses that had slid down his nose. He extended a handful of papers to Samantha. “I was brought here to aid with sequencing the virus and run tests for potential cures.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. . . ?”

  “Everly,” the scientist said. “Mr. Everly.”

  “Where were you previously?”

  “M.I.T. Before that, Harvard.”

  “Glad to have you on board,” Samantha said, extending her hand.

  Dr. Everly smiled and shook it.

  “Pleased to be here!” he said.

  “You arrived in the nick of time,” Samantha said. She turned to the research facility. “More research centers and equipment are coming. If you can’t find what you need, ask me. I’m sure we can get it.”

  “Can you direct me to my room, please?” Dr. Everly said, tapping his suitcase. “I need to unpack.”

  Samantha clapped him on the back and steered him toward the research center.

  “All in good time, doctor,” she said. “Right now, time is of the essence.”

  “I can’t even freshen up?”

  “I’ll let you have first dibs on the sleeping rota, how about that?”

  “Rota?” Dr. Everly said, troubled by the word.

  Samantha handed the man to her assistant. More stuffy scientists stepped out from a helicopter that’d just arrived. They headed her way. This was going to be a tough slog.

  24.

  THE MOMENT Michael had seen the roadblock on the fringes of town, he turned his car around and passed a car full to bursting with a beaming, happy family. They were singing the words to their favorite Disney songs.

  A family. That was the ticket past the roadblock.

  Michael had never wanted a family. Better to adopt one than start his own, he decided. What stirred up less suspicion than a happy family on their way to a trip somewhere? They weren’t looking for a family man. They were looking for a lone wolf.

  He headed back into town and pulled his car into a parking space. He got out and walked down the street, before stopping and turning back to pick up his little bag of baubles off the backseat.

  He didn’t know what it was with this town, but it seemed overly happy and optimistic. It was crammed with families and couples, out eating delicious
meals and oddly-flavored ice cream. They looked in windows, shopping.

  Michael was shopping too. His item of interest was the various families wandering up and down the high street. He ruled out families with too many children. They’d be too difficult to manage. One or two maximum. Preferably with a baby, or as close to it as to make no difference.

  Families with foreign parents were no good. The mixed-race ones were, so long as the father was white. He could slip into that family easily enough. So, a white family or a mixed family.

  Michael grew agitated. There were too many of them. He felt like a whale attempting to identify a specific fish within a large school. Perhaps it was wiser to concentrate on where he was going to make his attack rather than on whom.

  A hotel might be a good bet. He could sneak into their room, deal with the husband, and then whisk the rest of the family away. But how to know which room belonged to which family?

  Check-in, he thought. Even better, the family would be tired from traveling all day to get here. It would be easier to subdue the father. Now all he needed was a target.

  He continued down the street and observed a clutch of hotels on either side of the road. A car pulled onto the forecourt and a family climbed out. They handed their keys to the valet as a bellboy opened the trunk and removed their luggage for them.

  The family was black.

  Damn! Close, but no cigar.

  Michael waited ten more minutes before another car pulled into the forecourt of a hotel across the street. The SUV’s windows were blacked out. It was only when the doors opened that he saw the entire family was not only white but cereal advert white.

  For a moment, Michael didn’t think he could pass as the father of these kids. He was more swarthy in appearance, not—

  Except he wasn’t any longer. Not since he had become a Walker. Funny how the mind clings to the appearance it once had. Okay. He had his mark.

  He crossed the street and entered the hotel. He moved to one side of the check-in desk and tapped at his pockets, pretending to root around for his room key. He listened to the conversation taking place between the employee and wife of the family.

  Michael rolled his eyes. Yak, yak, yak. Of all the wives he could have chosen, why did he have to choose the one who never shut up? Her imbecile husband grinned like an idiot as the receptionist laughed and checked their documents.

  “Can I help you, sir?” A bellhop at Michael’s elbow.

  “No, thank you. I was looking for my key. I know I put it in my pocket somewhere. . .”

  “If you misplaced your key, you can get a replacement at the front desk—”

  “Room 314,” Michael heard the receptionist say.

  “Ah!” Michael said. “Here it is!”

  He grabbed the collection of fake IDs he had in his pocket. He didn’t remove them.

  “Danger averted!” he said.

  “Would you like some help with your, uh, sack, sir?” the bellhop said.

  “No need. Presents for the kids. They’ll be joining me soon.”

  He was thinking like a father already.

  “Very good, sir,” the bellhop said.

  He smiled amiably and turned to a pair of elderly guests. He helped them with their bags.

  Michael started up the stairs. As expected with all their baggage, the family would take the elevator. Michael climbed one flight of stairs and then another. He emerged on the third floor. He followed the helpful signs pointing out the location and direction of the odd and even-numbered rooms. He followed the signs to room 314.

  The elevator bell dinged and the family hustled to get their baggage to their room. Michael walked down the corridor slowly.

  The bellboy.

  That was a complication he hadn’t expected to have to deal with. Thankfully, the father of the family was there to save the day.

  “You don’t need to come in,” the father said, peeling a crisp ten-dollar note from his pocket and handing it to the bellboy. “Thanks a lot.”

  The bellboy nodded and took the stairs down. Michael turned on his heel as the family entered the room. He caught the door right before it shut, and shouldered it open at the last moment. The door, heavy as it was, struck the father on the heel on the other side.

  “Excuse me,” Michael said.

  The family looked him up and down, confused, but willing to believe he was a member of staff. The father looked angry and was crouched on the floor, hand cupped over his bleeding heel.

  “I work for the hotel,” Michael said. “I’m here to tell you that you must all be exceptionally quiet or he is going to die.”

  It took a moment for the words to process. The father and mother frowned and shared a look. The kids did likewise but looked to their parents for an explanation.

  Michael slammed his heel in the father’s face, knocking him unconscious. He knew what the response from the kids would be, no matter the warning he’d given them. He leaped forward and pressed his hands to their mouths, right when they were about to release their screams.

  They fell back onto the floor. Michael fell with them. He scooped the girls up in his arms and kept his hands clasped tight over their mouths. The mother pressed her hands together, unsure who to see to first. Her children or her husband.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t hurt them.”

  “I won’t,” Michael said. “If you get them to behave themselves.”

  It took some time to get the girls to understand. It was entirely too much effort for Michael. He decided right then and there that he’d made the right decision not to start his own family.

  He’d acquired an adopted family. Next came the real challenge.

  25.

  THAT WAS the problem with being a street-level cop. You were expected to carry out your orders without any explanation as to why.

  You were the one who had to set up the roadblock. You were the one who had to allay public fears. You were the one on the front line. All while the top brass never told you a bean about what was going on. It was described as on a “need to know basis.”

  Well, Stevens was putting his life on the line and he thought that was a pretty good reason to need to know. Another car pulled up to the roadblock he and Rosenstein had set up on the outskirts of town.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” a single middle-aged lady in a small car said.

  With the lack of information at the officer’s disposal, he had to resort to the old standbys.

  “Nothing you need concern yourself with, Miss,” Stevens said.

  Wow, this chick had an awesome rack. The kind that made you sit up and beg for more.

  “I have my license right here,” the lady said, leaning over to fetch her wallet from the passenger seat.

  The officer took the time to admire her delicious curves and short skirt that rode up her shapely legs. He jabbed the brim of his hat up with a thumb. Dear, oh dear.

  Being on traffic cop duty did have its perks. He diverted his eyes as she straightened up and handed him her credentials.

  “Everything looks to be in good order, Tabitha,” Stevens said, reading the name on her license. “May I ask what your plans are today?”

  “I’m going to see my mom. Her house is out of town.”

  Stevens licked his lips and thought about turning on the charm. His confidence faltered.

  “You take care of yourself, Tabitha,” he said. “Drive safe now.”

  “I will, officer.”

  Had there been a wink? Or had he imagined it? He sighed as he turned to Rosenstein and waved his arm. His partner eased up as the little lady took her vehicle out of his life.

  “There she goes, Rosenstein,” Stevens said.

  “Who?”

  “The girl of my dreams. Well, daydreams anyway.”

  “I’m sure your missus will be pleased to hear that,” Rosenstein said flatly.

  “She’s not pleased to hear anything these days. Any word from HQ?”

  “Nothing. We’re meant to sit here
and look pretty.”

  Stevens checked his watch.

  “Somebody’s supposed to relieve us,” he said. “I’ve got leave beginning after this shift.”

  “I got the feeling no one’s relieving us today. Everybody’s out.”

  “Everybody? We didn’t have this much coverage when the Madison girl went missing.”

  “I guess somebody more important got kidnapped this time.”

  “This is just great.” Stevens lashed out, kicking the police cruiser door shut. “I booked a nice little boat to go fishing this weekend. If I don’t turn up, they’ll give it to someone else.”

  “Heads up. Looks like our next customer’s on the way.”

  The SUV’s brakes squealed as it pulled up. A family, no doubt. On their holidays, like Stevens was meant to be right now.

  Still irritated, he rapped unnecessarily hard on the window.

  “Wind your window down, please,” he said.

  The window whirred.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” the driver asked.

  He was a man in his mid-thirties, square-jawed, and handsome. His skin was exceptionally pale, hair already thinning. He wore a small smile no doubt meant to disarm.

  In the passenger seat sat his pretty wife. Mousy brown hair, perfect complexion. In her lap was a young girl. She was crying and wouldn’t sit still.

  “Your little girl should be on the backseat in her booster seat, ma’am,” Stevens said.

  “I know. She gets carsick. When I hold her in my lap like this, she calms down. Usually.”

  “Be that as it may, she’s safer on the booster seat.”

  The mother raised her little girl’s face. “You need to sit in the back with your sister. Can you do that for me?”

  The little girl shook her head and buried her face in her mother’s clothes.

  “Kids, huh?” the father said.

  “Do it for your daddy, baby,” the mother said.