THE SAGA OF THE DEAD SILENCER Book 1: Bleeding Kansas: A Novel Of The Zombie Apocalypse

by L. ROY AIKEN

  On the other hand, will it matter? Will anyone be around to notice we still haven’t paid our mortgage payment?

  I’m pulling out into the street when the military Humvee interrupts blocks my way out. Hard-faced men in cammies surround me with M4s trained at my head. I roll down the window.

  “State the nature of your business,” barks someone with staff sergeant stripes.

  “I just checked in with the people at my office,” I say. “I’m on my way back to the hotel.”

  “You’re going straight back to the hotel.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  A 2nd lieutenant steps up and whispers something in the sergeant’s ear, then walks away.

  “Go to your hotel,” says the sergeant. “Stay there. We’re locking down these streets. If you don’t have a reason to be out, you will be shot. Understood?”

  “Got it. Thanks, Sergeant.”

  I see Guard patrols at the entrance ramps. They’re likely up and down the Interstate, too. I request an alternate route back to the hotel on the GPS and thread my way through the city.

  5

  My heart sinks as the hotel comes into view. My luxury prison. I was hoping to see the wide-open Interstate by now but here I am, by orders of the National Guard. So who’s paying for this? What if Giselle has already checked me out?

  The parking garage is nearly empty. I get the spot closest to the door. I take my luggage through the back to the elevator bank faced away from the desk.

  I park my luggage in my room but leave off unpacking it. I wash my face, freshen up from too much time spent in the hot and humid Kansas City morning. I dry myself over the air conditioning unit beneath the window.

  I consider changing into comfortable clothes but I’m thinking about the Guardsmen. They didn’t ask for my ID. I could have spent the better part of an hour explaining why I’m here from Colorado, the nature of the job I was interviewing for and what the hell I’m still doing here when the manager hiring me is dead, etc. Sure, the sergeant’s tone might have been more pleasant, but in the end it was my suit and the Luxury Tank that got me back here to the hotel. It’s not the open road but I’ve got a bathroom, air conditioning, and a lot more freedom of movement than I’d have under guard. Or shot.

  I go over myself with the lint roller, do a round of breathing exercises. Then I head out for the elevator.

  Angie’s face lights up as I step out. “When did you get back?”

  “A few minutes ago,” I said.

  “How was it at the company?”

  “They said they’d be in touch.”

  “I’ll bet. You checking out?”

  “I can’t. The National Guard is locking down the streets.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” said Angie. “Well, for what it’s worth, no one from the company called to check you out. So you’re still good to go on their dime.”

  “Nice to know,” I try to say as blandly as possible, while my inner Poor Worried Bastard whoops with joy.

  “Not that it matters. I can’t check anyone in or out with the network down. I mean, I could do it old school with a big wide book, but it’s no good until we can process the company credit card. We don’t have Internet, so….”

  I can’t take my eyes off the bandage on her arm. She didn’t have it when I left earlier. I’m about to ask when there’s a loud roar, then the steady clatter of heavy diesel machinery getting underway. “I guess that’s the first trench,” I say.

  “Yeah. Every park in the city. They’re having a televised service at six o’clock. Did you see the trucks?”

  “One, the way I was coming. ‘Bring out your deceased.’ Not something you want to hear from a loudspeaker on top of a truck. Not in this century.”

  “Yeah.”

  I nod towards her bandage. “What happened there? You all right?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was bitten by the guy in 604.”

  “What?”

  “I thought he was going to try and kiss me the way he came at me with his mouth open. His tongue and the inside of his mouth—God! He’s making these ‘unnnnh!’ noises like he’s retarded or something and I put my arm out to push him back and he grabs it and—oh, gross!”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Officer Dalton came by to look in on us and I asked if he’d come with me to check on the sick people. To see if they…anyway, we hadn’t seen or heard from Mr. Devereaux in days so we wanted to look in on him first.” Angie looks out the glass front windows to the empty street. “Whatever you do, don’t go up on the sixth floor. It stinks! We’re gonna have to call in a crew for that.”

  “Officer Dalton? There’s police out here?”

  “This hotel, you better believe it! We got people taking care of us! Thank God, I think I would have died from just looking at what that creep did to my arm. Officer Dalton got the EMTs up here to clean and dress this. Still, it took out a chunk! He was chewing on it when Officer Dalton shot him in the head!”

  “I take it they gave you something for the pain.”

  “Yeah. I’d enjoy it more if my arm didn’t hurt so much. Still got that damn gun ringing in my ear, too. Guns are loud, you know? Not like on the TV.”

  “The TV. Yeah, I think I’ll go see what the latest propaganda is.”

  Angie seizes my wrist. “No! I mean, we can watch it here, okay? Please! I’m kinda freaked out right now.”

  “I dunno….”

  “We’ve got all kinds of stuff we can cook in the kitchen! Mix something up for yourself from the bar! I’ll let you do whatever you want, just don’t leave me alone!”

  “Ah, what the hell. All right.” As the words leave my lips I hear something like distant fireworks. Firecrackers on a string. The occasional boom.

  Angie doesn’t seem to notice. I follow her into the kitchen. “What did they give you for the pain?”

  “Straight-up morphine. Yeah, I know, it makes me kinda loopy. I still feel that skin being…torn….”

  “All right,” I say, turning the knobs on the fry vats. “I see we’ve got cheese sticks here. Let’s fry ‘em up.”

  Angie finds some chicken tenders and brings the bag to me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know anything about this kind of equipment.”

  “It’s all right,” I tell her. I take off my jacket and hand it to her. “You’re in experienced hands, here.” I roll up my shirt sleeves, tuck my tie in between the buttons.

  “You used to work fast food?”

  “Does this look like a fast food kitchen to you?”

  “No, no! I didn’t mean to offend!”

  “Pass me that stack of baskets and liners, please.”

  She does. “I’ll hang this up for you,” she says.

  “Find a place to do it in here. I want it handy.”

  “What for?”

  “My wallet and keys are in there.”

  “Oh.”

  Not that I’ll need them for anything. I just want my jacket close. I drop the baskets into the oil, set the timers. Before long, we’ve got more than we can eat. Angie fills the little containers with honey mustard and marinara sauce. I click the fryers off and we enjoy our snack.

  The bell rings at the desk. Angie freezes, afraid to go out without me. I nod at her to wait as I roll down my sleeves. She rushes away to bring me my jacket, which she put on a hanger and hung from the kitchen employee’s coat rack. It’s less than a minute but the bell rings again as I’m walking with Angie to the front desk, where a police officer in full urban paramilitary gear stands with a guy in tennis shorts and matching polo shirt.

  “This one says he belongs to you,” says the cop.

  Angie laughs. “Oh, good!” She looks at me. “I thought it’d be good if you and Mr. Tanner got to meet each other. You’re both smart. You could help me hold down the fort!”

  “We’d appreciate the help,” says the cop. “We’re spread really thin. I’ve got another three blocks to worry about bes
ides this one. You the guy from room 1510?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t get back to your family—um, Mr. Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not planning on breaking out are you?”

  “No. I got the memo.”

  “Sir, please trust me when I say I’m not telling you this to scare you. Everything is locked down until we can get going with the burial of the dead. Once the people in charge are satisfied most of them are under then we’ll open the roads back up and things can start getting back to normal. But not until then. You try and make a run for it on the roads they will light your—they will light you up. Trust me, sir.”

  “Well, then, I’m with Angie holding down the fort. So what do we do?”

  “Not much to it, really. You just have the authorization of the police department to do what it takes to protect life and property here.”

  “Will we be issued weapons?”

  “Do you have a permit?”

  “Not on me.”

  “Well, Mr. Tanner here had his concealed carry permit from Colorado. It means he has training. Sorry, but at least he’ll have a sidearm.”

  “I’ll make do.”

  “Really, it’s not gonna be a problem. They’re going to try and make this as quick as they can. They’ll be running coverage on the local channels if you want to watch.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “All right, well, I gotta go. Just stay put. You might want to go easy on your food, too. Even with the roads open we don’t know when deliveries are gonna start again.” The cop looks at Angie. “How you holdin’ up, Angie?”

  “Mr. Grace stuffed me full of chicken tenders. I just wanna lie down now.”

  “Well, with Mr. Grace on board you can probably do that. What I want to know is how you’re doing with the pain.”

  “I’m okay so long as I don’t think about it,” Angie says.

  “I’ll try and bring an EMT when I check back on you all tonight.” Officer Dalton turns to Tanner and me. “Lock these doors after dark, or if you decide to go to your rooms. We’ve only got so many locking down these streets. Believe me when I tell ya, though—if we see it moving we’re shooting first and gathering data for the report later! Don’t go outside looking for trouble. Don’t go outside looking for anything.”

  “Understood,” I say.

  The cop pulls a card from his top pocket. “Give me a call if things get out of hand. I can’t promise I’ll respond right away, what with everything going on. So try not to let it get out of hand.”

  “I don’t see us having any problems,” I say, taking the card. “Thanks, though.”

  “Like I said, I’ve got four more blocks to check up on. Keep an eye on Angie for me.”

  “Will do.”

  Officer Dalton turns and pushes his way out the glass front doors. He turns back to us as he’s halfway through. “And don’t forget to lock these things! In fact, you might want to do that right now.”

  I turn to Angie. “I’ll get the keys,” she says.

  “All right, then,” says Officer Dalton. “Good luck!”

  He sets off across the front plaza. As I watch him disappear past the fountain I wonder why on earth we would need good luck during a funeral.

  What the hell. I’ll take it.

  6

  Angie returns with the keys and begins locking the doors. I look at the guy in the tennis shorts and polo shirt. “Is this all of us?”

  “Most everyone in this hotel left last night,” says Tanner. “I have to wonder how many of them made it back to where they’re from, though. Most of the airlines weren’t operational this morning. Now the roads are closed.”

  “I’d be over halfway there by now if I’d started first thing.”

  “You still might as well be on the far side of the moon. My kids are with their mother in Highlands Ranch, not too far from you. I look at it this way, getting myself killed trying to get through all those bandits out there, let alone the National Guard, won’t do them any favors.”

  “Bandits?”

  “Ever see the bumper sticker, ‘If It Weren’t for Physics & Law Enforcement I’d Be Unstoppable’? A lot of people don’t have their normal routine of going to work or whatever it is they do during the day to stop them, either. Not much on TV, and no Internet for the most part. If they’re not holed up in a basement somewhere eating all the chips and junk food they could carry from the nearest store then they’re out messing with people.”

  “I suppose it’s all up to physics, then.”

  “The city police were talking about how the state patrol pulled this one guy and his car out of a tree. But what ought to worry you and me are the ones shooting at cars on the highway for no other reason that because they can.”

  “So what are you doing out of Colorado?”

  “I’m a security consultant. I give presentations to company boards about doing business in depressed markets. I advise them how to brand themselves so they don’t appear part of the problem, how employees should and should not talk about what they do, and so on.”

  “Then I guess you’re all we need. I don’t have a gun.”

  “I’ve got to sleep sometime. You can use the one they issued me.”

  “I’m going to need some training.”

  “I thought you told Officer—oh! Okay! Well, we’ve got plenty of time between now and when the burials start. Probably ought to clean this thing first, anyway. Good time to get you acquainted with the basics.”

  Which we do. I’ve always meant to get a gun, but the general commitment involved with owning one put me off. You don’t just buy one of these things, load it and leave it in the nightstand drawer, hoping you’ll never use it.

  And honestly, with all that hasn’t been going on for me these last four years, I was afraid I would use it. Living in terror of leaking pipes, brake jobs, breakdowns. The constant drain on our savings. There were times I wished a heart attack would take me out nice and quick. Waking up to find myself alive was the greatest disappointment sometimes.

  Yet here I am now in this faraway city, taking apart a police-issue Glock, reassembling the parts. Meanwhile, Tanner talks about himself, his five-star wonderful family living the Good Ol’ American Dream. To people like him the Great Recession is an attitude problem. Everything is onwards and upwards, the good getting better all the time.

  Which is fine. At least he’s not asking me any questions about my own family. Claire is dead. She couldn’t even kiss me goodbye because we couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t afford it. Seriously.

  Well, honey, I didn’t get sick. Now what?

  I smile, nod, practice sighting with the Glock as Tanner goes on about his wife and how she got the pink Mary Kay Cadillac for making x number of sales. His son plays varsity hockey and is thinking about wrestling next year but all of his friends are into lacrosse. Tanner’s daughter “dabbles” in modeling but her boyfriend is graduating from the Air Force Academy in another year so all that’s up in the air. He and his wife want to move but you just can’t sell a house in this market. There are all kinds of opportunities overseas, though, and his wife has always wanted to live in London so….

  It comes off as quite the magnanimous gesture when Tanner pauses in his litany of First World problems to let Angie know he’s thinking about her: “Why don’t you find an empty room and go to sleep for a while?”

  “I feel better out here with you guys,” she croaks at us.

  “So long as you’re comfortable,” he says.

  “Fine. Thanks.”

  I get up and walk to the sofa we’ve dragged behind the front desk for her. Angie’s skin is covered in a greasy sheen. I touch the back of my hand to her head. “Ow!” she cries out.

  “I’m just seeing if you have a fever.”

  “It hurts!”

  “What’s going on over there?” says Tanner.

  “She’s got an infection!” I look down at Angie. “Can I get you to drink
some water?”

  “I just want to sleep….”

  I go into the back and fill a glass with crushed ice and water. “I’m setting this here,” I tell her when I get back. “Don’t be shy. Believe it or not, you need this.”

  I’m aware of Tanner looking at me as I return to my seat at the bar. I pointedly ignore him.

  “There are a lot of germs in the human mouth,” he says. “In fact, a bite from a human is one of the worst you can get.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “You need to rest for a while?”

  “No, I want to see the service. We still have some cheese sticks and chicken wings here. Might as well make supper out of it.”

  “I like the way you think!” says Tanner.

  Thank God for small favors.

  The coordination of the media is impressive. Each of the local stations has their assigned neighborhoods and their parks to cover. They have their separate theme music, even separate logos and titles but the narrative is the same: a straight-out-of-nowhere summer cold somehow became the Final Flu and now the world takes historic pause to bury their first wave of dead from this once-in-a-century epidemic. “Like in the days of the 1918 Spanish Flu we all look forward to getting back to more-or-less normal,” I hear people on two different channels say word for word. “Of course, the new normal will take some getting used to!”

  The other satellite channels show documentaries on the Spanish Flu, with nods to plagues past. I suppose if you watched some of that for long enough you might come to accept that one out of three people dropping dead is perfectly natural.

  This channel shows the surviving members of Congress and the Senate praying on the Capitol steps. “We encourage everyone watching to tune into their own local channels for coverage of what’s happening in their own areas,” says the voiceover. “We know it seems out of the ordinary to ask viewers to turn away but it is imperative we stay in touch with our local communities and do what has to be done to normalize issues specific to our respective localities. Every community has its own issues with the Flu, and its own requirements for taking care of the remains of the deceased. Meanwhile, we’ll show scenes of faith from around the globe….”