“What the hell is this guy?” an incredulous voice came over the radio.
No doubt every man, woman, and child who’d seen the punishment Michael took was thinking the exact same question.
29.
“WE’VE LOCKED down an entire square block,” the soldier said. “We’ve got eyes on every possible exit from the building. There’s no way this guy can get out without us spotting him.”
That’s what we thought with the barricades.
Michael was never meant to make it this far. He’d successfully entered the city limits and got within a few hundred yards of the city proper. If he had, the vile disease would have spread like the plague it was. There would be no barricade or resistance after that.
“How many are in the building?” Tommy said.
“Half a dozen or so.”
“If anyone tries to come out of the building and they don’t look like normal healthy people—”
“Put a bullet in their brain. I read the brief. And I’ve seen what happens to people who come in contact with this thing. We’ll put them down if there’s any doubt, sir. What are you going to do?”
“My team are going in. Someone needs to rattle the bushes and send the hare out to you.”
“Understood. We’ll be ready.”
He turned and left, leaving Tommy and the others alone.
“Once more into the fray, huh?” Emin said. “What the hell. I’m game.”
“I think we both are.”
Tommy turned to Sean.
“I’m in,” Sean said.
“Are you sure? It’ll be dangerous.”
Sean looked from Emin to Tommy. He nodded his head.
“Let’s get suited up,” he said. “We’re going in hot, and we’re going in through the front door. He’s desperate and things might get ugly. He’s also got hostages. He can bargain as much as he wants but he’s not getting out of this building except under our custody. Understood?”
They nodded.
“Let’s move out,” Tommy said.
30.
THE FIRST floor of the building was a boring run-of-the-mill office space designed to entice customers off the street. There were pictures on the walls of far-flung places. He moved through the space to the fire exit at the back.
The lights were off. He moved to the light switch and flicked it up and down. No power. Awesome.
What was he meant to do about the front door he’d blasted open?
Nothing.
The front of the store was made almost entirely out of glass. This was the very last place he wanted to hole up with the full might of the US military lining up outside. He might as well be a goldfish in a glass bowl.
He didn’t have the time nor the resources to set up a booby trap. He paused when he passed the stationary shelf. There was no duct tape but plenty of Sellotape.
Undead beggars can’t be choosers.
He grabbed an unopened pack, pushed the exit door open, checked the coast was clear and proceeded up the stairs.
The staircase wasn’t the bland type you usually found in an office building, a set of steps that virtually no one used, save in genuine states of emergency. These stairs were more like those found in an old house. That’s what this building had been, he realized. It’d been converted to commercial use.
There was thick red carpet underfoot and tasteful artwork on the walls. He followed the steps up to the second floor. He pushed the door open and poked his head inside.
Another office floor, though much larger than the first. There were multiple tables, lined in rows, from one end of the room to the other. State-of-the-art computers sat in the middle of each workspace. He had absolutely no idea what kind of work got done in this place. He hadn’t exactly ever been the office worker type.
He plonked his shotgun on the desk and fell into an ergonomic swivel chair. He tore the sellotape bag open with his teeth and extracted one of the rolls. He ran his finger along it to find the edge. It was a lot more difficult due to having lost fingers on one hand.
“Get him!”
The office was suddenly alive with movement as a bunch of shadowy figures lurched from the darkness. One man wrapped his arms around Michael, pinning him to the chair, arms by his side.
31.
THE ENGINEER threw the car’s hood back, emitting a thick billow of steam. The engineer leaped back and waved his gloved hands. Once it’d died down, the engineer bent over the engine and got to work.
The car had been wrapped around a streetlamp, its ass hanging off the sidewalk and across the street. A pair of officers held signs and directed traffic through the one-way system.
Locals and tourists alike stood slackjawed and gaping across the street, recording the event on their phones and tablets. They were filming as Guy approached the wreck’s trunk, opened it, and peered at what sat in the bottom.
A worn sackcloth bag. He opened it and checked the contents. It turned his insides to water. There were a dozen, perhaps two, of the small metal orbs they were looking for. They clinked together as Guy scooped them up.
He turned to the mass of people that lined the street on either side. If these things were to go off right now, it would cause a catastrophic panic.
Guy handed the sack to one of the soldiers who’d accompanied him in the helicopter there.
“Get this out of town,” he said. “Now.”
The man recognized the urgency in his voice and took off at a jog as he wound his way through the streets clogged with tourists.
Guy turned and moved further down the road where he found the town’s second most-popular attraction. A hotel called “C’est La Vie.” Bunches of technology-laden camera crews had set themselves up like they were on a camping trip.
Guy took a breath and moved toward them. He eyed them uncertainly, assuming they were going to bombard him with questions. They, in turn, eyed him with curiosity, looking for any sign he was a man of juicy information. They paid particular attention to his shoulders. No stars. No insignia suggesting importance. Most of all, none of them recognized his face or knew his name.
Small mercies.
That changed the instant Guy nodded to the soldiers standing guard outside the hotel. They stepped aside to grant him entry. The first reporter leaped to her feet faster than a prize-winning gazelle, microphone raised in mortal combat. Her voice was cacophonous, bouncing off the hotel’s threshold.
“Sir, what happened here today, and at the roadblock outside town?” she said. “Is it true two officers died?”
The alpha’s mating call brought others. They each brayed with their thunderous preaching, each question swallowed amongst the others’.
The soldiers obediently shut the gap, trapping the energetic reporters outside, microphones swinging and flailing like warning clubs. Guy hurried forward into the hotel proper.
The other guests had been brought here, jammed together in the entrance hall. Snacks and refreshments were being circulated, classical music filtering in over poor speakers. Hotel staff were attempting to allay their fears and keep them calm. Some of the patrons were complaining about not being able to go to their rooms. Others looked about ready to go tell the journalists everything they knew or thought they knew. And others seemed quite happy with the free food.
Guy walked the first few steps of the red-carpeted staircase and was met by a fresh-faced soldier.
“Were you sent by command, sir?” he said.
“Yes. How could you tell it was me?”
“You have the look of a man who knows where he belongs, sir.”
“That makes a change.”
“I’m Private Smyth. I was informed ahead of time that you would be joining us, sir. Please follow me, and I’ll take you to the family.”
They emerged on the third floor. It was empty. No doubt the guests had been cleared out, hence the congregation downstairs. Smyth said nothing but couldn’t help glancing frequently at Guy. He knew what he was and it put him on edge. Guy decided to put hi
m at ease.
“This room, I take it?” he said, gesturing to the only open door.
“That’s right, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, thank you.”
He let Smyth take a few steps toward the stairs before turning back.
“Although. . .” he said
“Yes, sir?”
“I didn’t catch lunch today, and I am very hungry.”
“I’ll have some sandwiches sent up, sir.”
“I’m not really in the mood for sandwiches. Do they have any steak?”
“I can ask, sir. How do you like it?”
“Rare. Bloody. Preferably directly from the field. Just have the fur removed and I’ll eat it in the kitchen.”
“Uh. . .”
“I’m joking with you, Smyth.”
“Ha. Yes, sir. Good one. You got me there.”
“I don’t eat beef. A nice human burger is just the ticket. And bloody rare. Don’t forget that.”
He turned and entered the bedroom, leaving Smyth on the stairs, unsure what to do. Guy simply couldn’t help himself.
Inside, the soldiers on either side of the door stiffened to attention.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Guy said.
He proceeded into the bedroom. A man lay in the bed. He had a thick wad of bandages wrapped around his head. He didn’t—couldn’t—move a muscle. A doctor bent over him, checking his vitals. To one side, two little girls lay across one another on a small sofa. The wife sat in a chair at her husband’s side.
The wife spotted Guy and looked away. The doctor noticed the change in her expression and straightened up. He peered at Guy over his glasses.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.
He smiled warmly to the wife and looked dourly at Guy. Guy didn’t speak until he was gone.
“I’m with the United States military—” he said.
“I know who you are,” the wife said, more of a bark.
Softly, softly does it.
“I’m here to see if there’s anything I can help you with,” Guy said.
“No. Now please go. It’s been a long day and I need to get the girls ready for bed.”
“This will only take a minute.”
“That’s what they said earlier. It ended up taking hours, going over every detail time and time again. If you want to know what happened, read their report.”
“I did read it. It must have been a terrible thing to have to go through. Especially with your little girls.”
The wife looked exhausted. She looked over at her girls. Mercifully, fast asleep.
“I hope this doesn’t bother them for too long,” the wife said. “I know how fragile young minds can be. One little thing, and it can mess them up for life.”
Her eyes took on a glassy, distant look. Likely recalling her own ghosts.
“I only have a couple of questions. Then I promise I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I don’t understand why this is so hard for you all to understand.” The bitterness had returned to her voice. “A man entered our room. He assaulted my husband. He forced me and my kids to pretend to be his family so he could get through the roadblock. It didn’t work. He killed them. We escaped. What other details do you need?”
Guy held up his hands in surrender and turned to leave. But he couldn’t leave. Tommy was going to ask him for details, specifics. He was there to uncover information that might aid them with finding the other orbs.
“He had something wrong with him, didn’t he?” Guy said. “Something unusual.”
“He murdered two officers in cold blood. A sane man doesn’t do that.”
“I meant something physical. I noticed the blood splatters at the roadblock. His blood is thicker than usual.”
The wife’s expression was a study in fear. Deep gouges around her eyes and mouth. She wasn’t angry at him, Guy realized. She was afraid.
“We found a cop’s pistol had been fired,” Guy said. “We know not all of them missed. He kept on moving, kept on walking.”
The wife’s voice was barely a whisper. “How did you know?”
“There are a great many things we know. The man who did this to you will pay for what he did. But first, we need to know everything we can learn about him.”
“I didn’t think the police would believe me. Whoever heard of a man taking so many bullets and still keep on walking around?”
“I believe you. I know, because I’ve seen people like him before.”
Like me.
“There are others?” This appeared to frighten her the most.
“A few. Not all of them are bad. There will be a lot more of them if we don’t do something. If you don’t help us.”
Her face scrunched up, near tears. “Why did this have to happen to us? Why us? We were on holiday, that’s all. We weren’t hurting anybody.”
Guy didn’t have an explanation. He held his arms out to the side. “It was bad luck. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. We can stop it from happening again if you help me.”
She took a moment to gather herself. She raised her eyes. In them, Guy saw the courage of a tiger.
She raised her chin. “Where do you want to begin?”
32.
“COME ON, guys,” Michael said. “Don’t do this.”
“We got you, asshole!” a balding man to Michael’s right said.
“You think so?” Michael said.
“I know so, biatch!” Baldy said. He turned to one of the others. “Call the police. Tell them we got their guy.”
The teenage girl already had a phone in hand—which teenager didn’t these days?—and began dialing.
“It’s engaged,” she said.
“Well, keep trying,” a guy with a blocked nose said. “I guess there’s a lot of people wondering about what’s going on with this guy about now. Hello. What’s this?”
He picked up the shotgun and aimed it at Michael’s grille.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Blocked Nose said.
“Danny, put it down before you hurt yourself,” a female middle-aged voice said.
Danny a.k.a. Blocked Nose tried to look dangerous armed with the gun, glaring down at Michael. He looked the type to make a lot of mistakes. Michael didn’t much relish getting shot at such close range.
On the plus side, his blood would spray the others, turning them into marauding, mindless zombies. Enclosed in a tight space like this, they were never going to spread the virus to the rest of the city.
“Has anyone else told you your face looks a bit like a hairy ass?” Michael said to Danny.
His colleagues attempted to stifle their chuckles. Evidently, it was a running joke. Danny didn’t much care for it.
He crouched before Michael and leered at him, his bearded face inches in front of him.
“Think you’ll still be making those kinda jokes when you’re inside with the hard nuts, buddy?” he said, jabbing the shotgun in his face. “Not so tough now, are you?”
Michael gathered the iron tang in his mouth and spat in Danny’s face.
“Eugh!” he said, backing away and waving his hands. “You’re disgusting!”
He stepped forward to smack Michael across the face with the rifle butt.
“Step back,” a guy in a sharp suit said, stepping between Danny and Michael.
My hero!
“Go to the bathroom to wash up,” Sharp Suit said.
“You’re on his side now?” Danny spat.
“No. I don’t want any accidents to happen. And you’re the one with the shotgun.”
Danny’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Fine. I’ll go. But keep your eye on him. I don’t trust him.”
He tossed the shotgun on the desk. The others jumped in case it went off by accident. Michael was lucky it didn’t. It was pointed directly at him.
“Any luck on the phone yet?” a deep voice behind Michael said. The voice of the man pinning him in place.
“Not yet,�
� the Teenager said.
“Keep trying,” Big Man said. “You’ll get through eventually.”
The Middle-Aged Woman piped up next. “I’m surprised he came so willingly—”
Michael raised his foot and shoved himself violently off the edge of the desk, sending both him and the Big Man sprawling across the floor. The moment he struck it, Michael attempted to roll free. Big Man maintained his grip.
“Oh no, you don’t!” he said.
The guy’s grip was intense.
With the aid of the others, they righted the chair, this time putting it in the middle of the floor where there was nothing for him to kick off.
“You were saying?” Big Man said sardonically to the middle-aged woman.
“The line’s still engaged,” the Teenager said.
“Why are we waiting for the cops to answer our call?” Sharp Suit said. “The reason the line’s busy is because all the cops are outside! I’ll go downstairs to speak with them face-to-face.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Baldy said. “They might think you’re him and open fire.”
“I’ll go out slowly,” Sharp Suit said. “They won’t shoot me. Do I look dangerous to you?”
“Only at the Christmas party.”
“I’m with Julie on this one,” Big Man said. “Better to play it safe and wait. Can someone find some rope to tie this guy up with? Who knows how long it’ll take before we get through to the cops.”
“Where am I supposed to find rope?” Julie said. “We’re a programming firm.”
“Get creative. You do work in marketing.”
“Who said you have to be creative to work in marketing?”
Sharp Suit approached the door that led to the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Big Man said.
“I told you,” Sharp Suit said. “To tell the police we caught him.”
“And I thought we agreed it was too dangerous?”
“We didn’t agree anything. You said something. That doesn’t make it law.”
“I’m your boss.”
“This isn’t work.”
Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State Page 10
