“We don’t know they need us,” said Kwang-Sun. “They could be here any minute.”
A mob of the walking dead materialized around them, enveloping them.
“We can’t wait,” said Quantrill.
“Then let’s go back and get them,” said Chogan.
Quantrill took in the SUV’s cargo bay stacked with packages of vaccine. “We can’t risk it. We have to get the vaccine back to our people in Vegas.”
“No one gets left behind.”
“We don’t have time to go back.”
“It’ll only take five minutes.”
“We don’t have five minutes.”
“Those things’ll be here in three minutes or less,” said Kwang-Sun, watching the hordes of walking dead marching toward them.
Fitful shots popped in the air behind them. Then a lone nerve-racking scream pierced the night.
“Get out of here back to Vegas,” said Quantrill. “That’s an order.”
Scattered gunshot reports sounded.
“It’s not right,” said Chogan.
Halverson hesitated at the wheel. He was torn between wanting to help the soldiers being massacred by the flesh eaters in the third SUV and returning to Vegas.
“Our mission is to get the vaccine and return to our people,” said Quantrill. “They’re counting on us. The people come first.”
“What about the people behind us getting killed?” said Halverson.
“They already got their shots.”
Halverson wondered if Quantrill was trying to be funny. He doubted it. Her answer angered him.
“I’m not talking about their vaccines,” he said.
“Stop arguing and go back to Vegas.”
“The shots won’t prevent the zombies from tearing your men apart and eating them.”
“The vaccine will prevent my men from reanimating.”
“I’m sure that’s a big comfort to them as they’re being eaten alive,” said Halverson, listening to another scream rive the air.
“Are you hard of hearing?”
Halverson felt a cold steel circle press against the nape of his neck. He flinched.
“I told you to drive us out of here,” said Quantrill and pressed her pistol’s muzzle harder against Halverson’s neck. “Do you understand?”
Halverson had a thing about authority figures. He didn’t like them. He didn’t like Quantrill. And he certainly didn’t like being coerced into doing something at gunpoint. It was Halverson’s view that more often than not authority figures tended to make the wrong decisions. They rarely got their jobs on account of their decision-making abilities. Instead, they got their jobs on account of connections.
Such an attitude made his life difficult at the Agency, where he was considered a pariah because of his work in the National Clandestine Service’s off-the-books black ops division. However, he spent little time within the walls of Langley and therefore didn’t have to suck up very often to the mealymouthed bureaucrats calling the tunes. Working in the field had its advantages. The last thing he wanted to deal with was office politics.
The problem with working in the field, as he well knew, was coming into contact with trigger-happy control freaks like Quantrill, whether they were on the enemy’s side or on your side.
Fit to be tied, a gun at his head, Halverson floored the gas pedal. The SUV peeled off. It yawed over a couple of dead zombies and sped toward Las Vegas.
“What are you doing?” said Chogan.
“He’s following orders,” said Quantrill. “I’m in charge here.”
Chogan cut his eyes back toward her and for the first time spotted the pistol she was holding against Halverson’s neck.
“It’s not right,” said Chogan. “No one should get left behind.”
“The mission is more important than any single person in it,” said Quantrill. “If you’re a marine, you should know that.”
Chogan faced forward. He stared straight ahead through the windshield. The forlorn screams of the abandoned soldiers ringing in his ears haunted him.
Halverson’s vehicle shot off into the darkness, churning up clouds of dust in its wake.
Kwang-Sun fell in behind Halverson with his vehicle.
Another scream died in the distance behind them, gobbled up by the evening gloom.
The walking dead flounced after the two vehicles, thrashing their arms in frustration at the loss of their meals.
CHAPTER 34
Las Vegas
“Resistance is futile!”
The words boomed and echoed down Las Vegas Boulevard from the loudspeakers on a beat-up green and white VW van that tooled down the asphalt under the tawdry glare of neon lights that illuminated the night sky.
Victoria, Emma, and Arnold Meers stood under the marquee in front of the Mirage Resort’s entrance listening to the reverberations of the electronically amplified voice.
“What does that mean?” Victoria asked Meers.
“I believe there are things going on here that we don’t really know about,” answered Meers, his right eyelid twitching behind his spectacle lens.
“Like what?” asked Emma.
“Like why don’t we ever see the winners of the lottery after they win?”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe they like it better wherever they go after they win.”
“You would think they might come back here to visit us once in a while. They do have friends here.”
“Maybe you’re just not a gambler, Arnold. Did you ever think of that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t like the lottery because you don’t like to gamble.”
Put out, Meers said, “I don’t have any problem with gambling. I just like to know what I’m gonna win when I gamble.”
Emma nodded. “I see your point.”
“Especially if I’m gonna disappear after I win.”
“Maybe you won’t disappear. Maybe you’ll come back here after you win.”
“Nobody else ever has.”
“There’s always a first time.”
Meers stared at her. “What if you can’t come back after you win?”
“That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t you be able to come back?”
Meers adjusted his glasses and massaged his furrowed brow. “I don’t know. That’s what bothers me about this whole lottery deal. There’s too much they don’t tell us about it.”
“Why do they hold the lottery in the first place?”
“To improve morale, they say. It keeps everybody’s mind off the plague and the collapse of the country.”
“I guess that makes sense, but they ought to at least tell you what you win.”
“They do tell you what you win.”
“Which is?” Emma asked, leaning her head toward Meers, widening her eyes.
“An all-expenses-paid vacation out of here.”
“Well, there you go then,” said Emma, leaning away from Meers. “The winners never come back because they want to stay on their vacation forever. It’s that good.” Emma paused a beat. “That should make you want to play more than ever.”
Meers shook his head. “I don’t buy it. There’s something fishy about it. Why don’t the winners at least send us a postcard?”
“Think about what you’re saying, Arnold. There isn’t any mail these days. The post office is gone like everything else. No FedEx. No UPS. No delivery service, period.”
“That’s true,” conceded Meers grudgingly.
“And that’s why you don’t get any postcards.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe? Of course that’s the reason. What other reason could there be?”
Meers hated suggesting it, but the idea had been preying on his mind for so long that he felt he had to give vent to it. “Maybe they’re dead.”
Emma stood nonplussed, assimilating Meers’s response.
“Why would you even think that?” she said at last.
“I don’t know,” s
aid Meers, flustered. “I just have the feeling there’s something hinky going on.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
Meers rubbed his chin with his fingers. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you have proof any of the lottery winners are dead?”
Meers bowed his head. “No,” he muttered.
“Like I said, you’re letting your imagination run wild.”
Meers raised his head and clucked, but said nothing.
“I like to win when I gamble,” said Emma, changing the subject, “but I hardly ever win.”
“Nobody does. That’s why they call it gambling.”
“Some people win.”
“A select few.”
“You sound like somebody who’s not a risk taker.”
Meers stared at her. “There’s a big difference between taking risks and acting like a fool.”
Emma took umbrage. “Are you calling me a fool?”
“I’m not calling you anything. I’m just saying.”
“Resistance is futile!” boomed the loudspeakers as the van they were mounted on drove closer to the hotel entrance.
“Resistance against what?” said Victoria.
“Against the General,” answered Meers. “That’s what I think it means, anyway, though nobody’s ever explained it to me.”
“Don’t the people here ever wonder what it means?”
“Guess not. They don’t care as long as they’re well fed with roofs over their heads.”
Emma winced as the loudspeaker continued to boom. “That voice gets on my nerves.” She looked over her shoulder. “Millie doesn’t like it either. Don’t cry, Millie, baby. The bad noise will go away soon.”
Meers gave Emma a look. “Who’s Millie?”
“My baby. Can’t you see?” said Emma, not looking at Meers.
“I don’t see any baby,” said Meers, puzzled.
Emma faced Meers. “You need a new prescription for your glasses.”
Meers shook his head in confusion. It was all going over his head. He didn’t know what to say.
“Resistance is futile!” said the voice, drowning out their conversation.
“This smacks of brainwashing,” said Victoria, glowering at the van.
“It’s also depressing having to listen to it,” said Emma. “Does this go on all night?”
“Pretty much all night and all day,” said Meers.
“How can you stand it?”
“You can get used to anything. It’s not like we have a choice.”
“You could always leave.”
“Then we’d have to deal with the infected. That’s one good thing about being here—no ghouls.”
“And you have power and food, too,” put in Victoria.
Meers nodded. “Exactly. So, the way I look at it, if they want to blast their stupid slogans, blast away.”
Emma winced at the pain in her foot.
“What?” said Victoria, watching Emma.
“Nothing.”
Emma hadn’t told anyone that the zombie that had hitchhiked under their SUV had bitten her shoe at the rest stop when the creature had snagged her foot and tripped her. The ghoul’s teeth had penetrated the leather upper on her shoe, but she wasn’t sure the teeth had broken her flesh. She had never taken the time to remove her shoe and inspect her foot. In fact, she had forgotten all about it until now when she felt a twinge of pain in her foot.
“Are you sure?” said Victoria. “You look kind of pale.”
“I just need something to eat. Then I’ll feel better.”
Victoria gazed past the artificial volcano looming in front of the Mirage and picked up on headlights approaching on the boulevard.
Meers followed her gaze. “Looks like the General’s back.”
“Didn’t she take three SUVs? I see only two.”
“Maybe they ran into trouble.”
Victoria hoped nothing had happened to Chad. She was tired of losing people in her life. Losing her daughter Shawna to the plague was enough. She didn’t want to lose Chad too. He had been with her since Shawna had become infected. He had pretty much filled the gap in her life left by Shawna. Of course, nobody could ever take Shawna’s place in her heart.
Apprehensively, Victoria waited for the SUVs to arrive.
CHAPTER 35
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center
President Cole sat at the conference table in the Situation Room with General Eugene D. Byrd, Dr. Kenneth Laslo, Director Harold Paris of the FBI, DNI Hilda Molson, Sheila Klauss, Ernest Slocum, and Scot Mellors.
“We’re getting reports of some kind of riot at the shelter in Nevada where we were distributing the vaccine,” said Dr. Laslo.
His drawn face looked even more lived-in than usual.
“Did they find out the vaccine is no good?” asked Slocum.
“We don’t know exactly what happened. Only one medic survived the massacre.”
“Where is he?”
“He reported to me by satphone. He’s still in Nevada hiding somewhere.”
“How did he survive the riot?” asked General Byrd.
“He hid in a closet.”
“I don’t understand,” said President Cole. “Why was there a riot?”
“I don’t know if there was a riot,” said Dr. Laslo. “The survivor said visitors to the shelter opened fire on all the personnel and their patients for no reason at all.”
“Makes no sense,” said Slocum, beating a tattoo on the tabletop with his fingers.
“Unless they found out somehow that the vaccine is fake,” said Mellors at his side.
“How could they find out so quickly? This was the first day of the vaccine’s distribution.” Slocum shook his head no. “They couldn’t have found out.”
“Then why did it happen?” said Cole, searching everybody’s face. “I want answers, people.”
Paris cleared his throat.
“Go ahead, Harry,” said Cole.
“Maybe it was some kind of a holdup,” said Paris. “Maybe robbers are going around jacking the vaccine so they can hawk it on the black market.”
“Then why slaughter all the medics?” said Slocum.
“So they wouldn’t tell anyone. The robbers didn’t want to leave any witnesses.”
“Why not?”
“So the police won’t come after them.”
“What police?”
Paris shrugged. He had no answer.
“We need soldiers to protect the medical personnel, it looks like,” said General Byrd.
“What soldiers?” said Slocum.
“Do you have any evidence it was a robbery?” Cole asked Paris.
“Not at this point,” answered Paris. “This is the first I’ve heard about the massacre. I haven’t had time to initiate an investigation.”
“This is unconscionable. We can’t allow another massacre like this one to break out. We need to find the perpetrators and mete out justice to them in short order.”
Paris tapped the tabletop with his fingers reflectively. “If it wasn’t black marketeers, it might have been a militia. Militias have historically had a strong presence in Nevada.”
“The way I hear it, militias are roaming all over the country, not just Nevada,” said Byrd.
“They sense the government is collapsing. That’s why they’re crawling out of the woodwork. They’ll do whatever they can to take over. The plague is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for.”
“Do we have any evidence it was a militia that’s responsible for this atrocity?” asked Cole.
“No,” answered Paris. “I’m just naming likely suspects.”
“Let’s not put the applecart before the horse. Carry out your investigation before you start naming names.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Why would a militia do this? What would be their motivation?”
“To cause massive disruption and blame it on the government. The only way they can
take over is by blaming the government for the plague and the resulting violence.”
General Byrd glanced at the map of the United States on the flat-panel HDTV on the wall. The state of Nevada was flashing red and orange, as though it couldn’t make up its mind what color it was.
“I say we carpet-bomb Nevada with thermite bombs,” he said. “Let’s blow the ghouls and the cutthroats both to kingdom come. The state’s gone, if you ask me.”
“Let’s wait till we know more about what actually happened and who’s responsible before we go dropping bombs,” said Cole.
“We need to show these cold-blooded murderers who’s boss. It ain’t no tin-pot militia or moneygrubbing black marketeers calling the shots. It’s us. It’s time we taught them a lesson.”
“They won’t get away with this, Mr. President,” said Paris. “You can count on that.”
“I can’t impress upon all of you strongly enough that no word of this atrocity must escape this room,” said Cole, sweeping his gaze around the conference table.
“If the public found out about it, they would become too scared to go to the shelters to get their vaccines,” said Dr. Laslo.
“Even worse than that, public knowledge of this massacre would incite panic on an unprecedented scale.”
“If the public becomes panicked, there’s no telling what they’ll do,” said Slocum, trying to curry favor with Cole by catching his eye.
Cole appeared lost in his thoughts. “There’s no rhyme nor reason for this slaughter to have happened. I don’t get it.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” said Mellors, “this situation could deteriorate rapidly.”
Cole faced Mellors. “How so?”
“May I speak frankly?”
“You better if you want to remain one of my confidants and keep coming to these meetings.”
Cole’s words elicited smiles around the table.
“That goes for all of you,” added Cole with a subtle smile that flickered across his lips.
Heads nodded in agreement.
“I’m convinced the people are gonna riot when they find out these vaccines are useless,” said Mellors.
“That gets me to thinking.” Cole turned to Dr. Laslo. “Were the assailants at the Nevada shelter inoculated with the vaccine before they went berserk?”
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