Plague Nation

by Dana Fredsti

  She glanced up from her book. “Nah, no big deal.”

  “Are you sure?” I must have sounded doubtful, because Lil abruptly threw her book down on the bed and sat up, dislodging both cats. Okay, Doodle just rolled a few inches down the pillow and went back to sleep, while Binkey looked up, yawned and jumped off the bed in search of food.

  “I’m sure!” she snapped. “I can handle it. It’s none of your business anyway, okay?”

  Whoa. I held up my hands in a “no trouble here” gesture. “Easy, girl,” I said. “I’m just gonna put these back in the bathroom, okay?”

  “Fine!”

  Obviously it wasn’t.

  “Look, I’m not trying to be nosy,” I said. “I just worry.”

  “Well, don’t.” With that, Lil retrieved her book, threw herself back on the bed, and cracked it back open. “I’m fine, okay?”

  That was up for debate, but now was not the time. Without another word I went back in the bathroom and put the pills in the medicine cabinet, telling myself it would be okay. I mean, she wasn’t popping pills and going on about needing her “dolls.” That was a good sign, right?

  When I came back out, Lil was sitting up, hugging her knees to her chest with both arms, staring at me remorsefully.

  “I’m sorry, Ashley.” She sounded miserable.

  I sighed and sat down on my own bed.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” Lil sniffled, wiping her nose on one sleeve. I handed her the box of Kleenex we kept on our nightstand.

  “Even if I say it is?”

  Lil shook her head.

  “Especially then. You’re too nice to me. All the time.” She blew her nose, quietly. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”

  I shook my head, failing to hide a smile.

  “You’re easy to be nice to,” I said truthfully. “And you’ve got plenty of reasons to be upset. You should let yourself. Okay?”

  Lil burrowed her head against her arms and knees. Binkey gave a plaintive meow and bumped his head against her back.

  “But it’s not okay for me to take it out on you. I mean, that’s what Gabriel is doing, whatever’s wrong with him. He’s taking it out on you.” Wise words from a eighteen year old.

  “Trust me when I say that you have a long way to go before reaching Gabriel’s current level of asshat behavior.” I shot her a grin. “You’re not even in his league.”

  Lil gave a shaky laugh and propped her chin up on her knees. Then she looked serious.

  “Do you think it’s his meds?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Could be. Or maybe it was finding out this shit has spread out of the quarantine zone. Could be that’s upped his stress level, so he’s permanently set in jerk mode.” Even as I said it, I felt bad. So I hastily added, “In which case I’ll give him at least a partial ‘get out of jail free’ card.” I looked at Lil and grinned again. “Same with you, kiddo. No one should have to put up with the shit you’re dealing with.”

  Lil jumped out of bed and gave me a bone-crunching hug.

  “You’re the best, Ash.”

  Binkey jumped off the bed in a huff, giving me a look as he made his way into the bathroom. It was obviously my fault he’d been disturbed. A loud, vigorous scratching followed his disappearance—another way for him to express his opinion.

  I hugged her back as the pungent odor of cat poop wafted out into the room. Lil and I both winced.

  “I’ll go scoop that out,” she said, waving a hand in front of her nose.

  “Good idea,” I said, grabbing a handy bottle of citrus room deodorizer and giving a generous spray. The result was orange-scented cat shit. “You might want to re-think his diet, too.”

  Maybe I’ll see if I can find Gabriel, after all.

  We needed to have a heart-to-heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  I didn’t want Lil to think Binkey was chasing me away— even if it was partly true—so I told her what I had decided to do. Then I went looking for Gabriel.

  He wasn’t in his room on the first basement level, where our living quarters had been set up. There was a chance he was in the med ward. But not even my desire to speak with Gabriel could get me to venture further down into that house of horrors, with all the people dying of zombie bites and the experiments being done on the undead specimens in the labs. Oh, for the naive days when I was just a student. Before I learned that the DZN had top-secret research facilities in an equally secret sub-level of Patterson Hall.

  I was fully expecting to find a Bat Cave on campus, one of these days.

  So I headed for the main floor where the lecture halls were, ending up in front of Room 217, where Simone had taught her courses. The door was cracked open and the lights were on, and as I drew closer it was easy for me to pick up the sound of voices coming from the room. I stopped, not wanting them to know I was there.

  “So, what have you heard?” Nathan’s tone held barely concealed impatience.

  There was a pause before an answer came. It was Simone.

  “The news isn’t good,” she said. “Confirmed sightings in all the locations where Dr. Albert’s vaccine was sent for testing.” There was silence for a moment, then she continued. “We’re still waiting for the reports from more distant locations. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

  Eavesdropping is a time-honored method of acquiring information you otherwise wouldn’t be privy to. And it wasn’t like I meant to stumble across their conversation. Therefore I felt very little—if any—guilt.

  “What are you doing about it?” This was Nathan.

  I peeked through the crack in the door just in time to see Simone shoot Nathan a look that should have shriveled his man bits. They were both at the front of the lecture hall. She was standing by the lectern as if preparing to teach a class, while he leaned against the “command central” table that Paxton usually occupied during our briefings and debriefings.

  “Are you referring to me personally,” she asked testily, “or the Dolofónoitou Zontanóús Nekroús?”

  “I consider you interchangeable.” Nathan crossed his arms and stared at her.

  “They’ve already sent people to each of the locations, to attempt damage control before the general populace can become aware of the situation.”

  Nathan snorted. “General populace. No one talks like that unless they’re on the BBC.”

  Simone glared at him. “Not everyone is limited to words of one or two syllables, Captain Smith.”

  I held a hand over my mouth, trying to hold back my amusement. Something about watching the two of them was just too much fun, even given the undeniably serious situation. They were like overly erudite junior high school students. Ones that had been kept back a decade or so.

  “Fine, Henrietta Higgins.” Nathan walked to the other side of the lecture area, then back again, pacing like an irate puma. “So how is the grand scheme working?”

  “It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep things under wraps,” Simone admitted, looking uncomfortable. “A few of the smaller, more isolated locations have been quarantined using similar cover stories as the Ebola outbreak we used for Redwood Grove.”

  I could almost hear Nathan rolling his eyes as he responded.

  “How many escaped laboratory monkeys do you people think the—” He did the most sarcastic finger quotes I’d ever seen “—general populace will buy before they begin to catch on?”

  “We’re not using Ebola for each cover story,” Simone snapped. “Throw in the words ‘terrorist plot,’ and enough people are willing to accept it. That buys us some time.” She didn’t sound too happy about it, though.

  “Wow,” Nathan said with a smirk. “The DZN and the military really think your average citizen is pretty stupid, huh?”

  “No doubt there are plenty of conspiracy theorists like yourself who will be questioning the stories, and coming up with even more fanciful explanations than a zombie outbreak.” Simone’s snipp
y tone could’ve cut through paper. “More often than not, those work in our favor.”

  “What about the towns that aren’t isolated?” Nathan countered. “What will you use as an excuse under those conditions? ‘Oh, we’re just filming an episode of The Walking Dead. Would you like to be extras?’ That should do it.”

  Wow. Nathan watches Walking Dead?

  “You watch The Walking Dead?” Simone said. “I’d have thought you were more the type for The History Channel, or perhaps old Star Trek marathons.”

  “Know your enemy,” Nathan replied. “After Kyrgyzstan, there wasn’t a lot on the subject that I didn’t read or watch. I also watch Game of Thrones and The Borgias. Those help me understand the DZN.”

  There was a long pause, and I wondered if Simone was taking a few deep breaths while contemplating homicide. When she finally spoke, however, her tone was nothing I’d heard from her before.

  She sounded scared. And if Simone sounded scared, that meant things really were bad.

  “They’re still looking into solutions. For now, they can play it off as necessary precautions taken against a possible pandemic of Walker’s Flu. But that will only hold for so long, especially if we can’t bring things under control. Martial law is the next logical step.”

  “And then come the helicopter gunships, napalm, cluster bombs, and artillery, right? Tactical air strikes, anyone?” He paced back and forth, frustration and anger radiating off of him with each step.

  “Don’t forget the tactical nukes.”

  Shit. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The voice, worthy of a Shakespearean actor, came from directly behind me.

  “Excuse me, Ashley.” Colonel Paxton smiled, an expression that always looked out of place on a man with a face like a tragedy mask.

  I wondered if there was a penalty for eavesdropping. The colonel seemed like a fair man, but after Lil and I had gone AWOL to rescue her cats, he’d pretty much told us that if we stepped out of line again, he’d lock us up. The way he’d said it, I didn’t doubt he’d carry out his threat. For all that he looked like some comic book character named Master Thespian, he was someone to take seriously.

  It was hard to get a handle on him. I thought he was one of the good guys, as far as it went, but the older I got, and the more I paid attention to politics and the news, the less inclined I was to trust anyone to do the right thing for the right reasons. Especially anyone with power.

  At the sound of Paxton’s voice, Simone and Nathan looked up and saw me standing in the doorway with a blatantly guilty expression on my face. I knew better than to try for the innocent routine. I haven’t been able to carry that off since I was, oh, five years old.

  “Ashley,” Simone said politely. “Won’t you sit down? Given what you’ve likely heard, you might as well join the conversation.” Her tone was hard to read, but I was probably in for a world of hurt, one way or the other.

  I gave Paxton a sideways glance. He responded with a little “after you” gesture, so I went in and sat in the front row of seats.

  As I usually did in most situations, I decided that the best defense was a good offense.

  “So, is there any chance of containing this?” I asked.

  Simone gave my question some thought before replying.

  “For an organization as secretive as the Dolofónoitou Zontanóús Nekroús, it’s quite large and has many members in branches of the military and government worldwide. So we’re doing what we can to stem the outbreaks... quietly.”

  “That’s only realistic within one or two small towns and you know it, Simone,” Nathan growled impatiently. “There’ve already been videos on YouTube, and reports from the smaller news outlets.”

  “Yes, but the current popularity of zombies in the various media has played to our favor,” Simone argued. “Any doubters are assuming that it’s a gimmick, or hysteria.”

  “But only to a point.” Nathan shook his head. “The Dolofóni can only blame things on designer drugs like Bath Salts, or play it off as student film projects, for a limited amount of time. Eventually word is going to spread, and some sort of overt action will be needed. Maybe even demanded.”

  “They’re not really talking tactical nukes yet, are they?” My voice sounded small in the large room.

  “Not yet.” It was Paxton who answered my question. “It’s easier to consider that as a viable option when dealing with a small and relatively isolated community such as Redwood Grove. Collateral damage is limited because of the geography. For larger, more populated areas, however, the sort of public outcry that would result from, say, San Francisco being bombed, would be a PR disaster for the administration.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?” Nathan muttered. Paxton ignored him and continued.

  “Besides, at what point would that even work? Do it too soon, and you risk outraging the American public— and the rest of the world, for that matter. Who knows how they’ll react. Wait too long, though, and what’s the point? The problem will have spread past the point of containment.”

  Well, that just sucks.

  “Containment only works when the numbers are relatively small, and the geographical logistics are favorable.” Simone shook her head. “We were lucky with Redwood Grove. If one can call this sort of devastation ‘lucky.’”

  Nathan snorted.

  “Like you were lucky in Kyrgyzstan?”

  That got my attention. The “glare” switch lit up in Simone’s eyes again.

  “Not nearly as lucky as we were in Kyrgyzstan,” she replied.

  “Kyrgyzstan?” I looked expectantly from Nathan to Simone and back again. Colonel Paxton seemed to suddenly find his fingernails very interesting.

  Simone gave something that sounded like a cross between a cough and a sigh.

  “I suppose there’s no reason not to tell her.”

  Nathan shrugged.

  “Fine by me,” he said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  KYRGYZSTAN MOUNTAINS

  Through a sniper scope, Nathan watched the small group of Kyrgyz tribesmen as they made their way up a trail that would make mountain goats think twice. They reached a plateau and the ruins of an ancient fortress, and then headed toward a rocky outcrop. Nathan’s vantage point, a few hundred feet above in another pile of ruins, provided him the perfect cover to watch their progress without fear of being seen.

  According to Intel, there were Scythian burial mounds in the area. Most were under the waters of Lake Issyk Kul, but some still lay nestled in the crevices and canyons of the surrounding mountains. So it was possible that these really were tribesmen after valuable artifacts buried in the mounds. Or they could be Mujahideen on their way to a hidden bunker in one of the many caves honeycombing the area.

  From the furtiveness of their progress and the well-worn Kalashnikovs slung across their shoulders, along with the odd RPG-7, Nathan was betting on the latter. One of them even had an Enfield, its stock wrapped in fabric, cradled under one arm. Most of them were also lugging long canvas bags on their backs. More weapons, maybe.

  Hunkering down behind the cover of a crumbling stone wall, Nathan downed a handful of almonds and dried apricots, followed by a few swigs of bottled water, watching as the tribesmen reached the outcropping of rocks. He adjusted the scope for a better look at their destination, taking in the tangle of brush that hung over what looked like an indentation in the mountain itself, blocked with boulders of various sizes.

  It had been a stroke of luck, finding the scope. He’d picked it up off a discarded Dragunov he’d found in the ruins, the barrel burst. Whoever had fired it hadn’t checked for blockages. Given the amount of grit, mud, and sand in this country... not too smart. Although considering the fact that he’d managed to drop his binoculars on the climb up, he wasn’t one to judge.

  At least not much.

  One of the tribesmen, the one carrying the Enfield, barked out a few words in Kyrgyz. The men carrying the canvas bags unslung them, pulling out what looked l
ike pry bars, and set to work heaving the boulders away from what had to be an entrance to one of the many caves honeycombing the region.

  “Gotcha, you bastards,” Nathan muttered. He took another pull of water and continued to watch the activity across from him and below.

  One of the men paused in his work, leaning down and picking something off the rocky ground. He held it up for closer inspection, then gave a sharp yell, dropping it as if it’d burned his fingers. Enfield Man snapped at him, his irritation obvious to Nathan even from a distance.

  Enfield Man jerked his head at the boulders still obscuring the now obvious cave entrance. The other man shook his head and backed away from whatever he’d dropped to the ground.

  Nathan adjusted his focus, honing in on the object.

  “Move the fuck to the right, okay?” he muttered. Enfield Man’s dusty shoes were in his line of sight. The fellow obligingly—if obliviously—took a step to the right before hunkering down to examine the discarded—

  What the fuck?

  —foot.

  Nathan shook his head, then looked back through the scope.

  A human foot lay in the dirt, bone sticking out of the ragged edges of flesh where an ankle should have been attached. As desiccated as it was, it was clear that something had been chewing on it.

  Enfield Man stumbled backward, shouting frantic orders to the men using the pry bars on the boulders blocking the cave entrance. His shouts were clearly audible to Nathan, and from what little Kyrgyz knew, he recognized the word “stop.”

  Even as the orders were shouted, one of the men succeeded in toppling the largest boulder out of the rocky jigsaw puzzle, jumping back as the rock smashed to the ground, revealing a gaping black hole. The man turned to his compatriots with a triumphant yell—

  —which cut off abruptly as several pairs of hands, as desiccated as the foot, reached out of the darkness, seized him by his face, throat and chest, and dragged him over the remaining boulders that still partially obscured the cave mouth. He’d vanished into its depths before his compatriots could do more than gape in horror.