Knowing Carlos owed him money and a little unsure of what to do, the cartel’s loan shark asked his boss how he should proceed. Paco Lamentoya, Bogotá’s cartel kingpin, was an imaginative criminal. Intrigued by this upper-crust serial killer, he had the young man brought to him. Paco wanted to see this killer himself. The interview proved to be life changing for both. Originally intending just to kill Carlos after his curiosity was satisfied, Paco listened to this rather plain-looking monster speak of his intense lust for causing pain and decided to use these interests for his own agenda. There happened to be a little problem of certain drug shipments arriving short, and he was having trouble finding out exactly who was responsible. It was down to four men, and normally he would just kill all four to make a point. However, the longtime trusted associates were very valuable for their knowledge and expertise. He hated to lose three of them for nothing. Making an unusual executive decision, he put Carlos on the payroll as sort of an inquisitor-in-residence. All Carlos Guzman had to do was find out who the guilty party was without leaving the others unusable. The young, sadistic serial killer threw himself into his work with gusto. His study of human anatomy, nerve centers, and pressure points, as well as his experience with just how much pain a person could take before dying, proved to be invaluable. In one day the culprit was uncovered, and the other three were returned to their positions, much older but much wiser. The traitor was given to Carlos both as a gift for him and as punishment for the miscreant. It took five days for the unfortunate thief to die; by then he had been reduced to the level of a broken, gibbering animal.
All went well for Carlos Guzman for a few years. Then Pandora came. After flying to Miami to meet the cartel representative so he could be used to make an example of a couple of local hijackers, he became stranded in the American city. As fate would have it, one of his chaperones was Corso, who was working this as a side job while Bouchard was lining up another yacht takeover. Corso also saw the opportunities in Carlos and brought him into the fold, where he quickly attained the moniker “Dr. Death.”
These and others like them in the pirate crew were now holed up in the northeast portion of Key West.
3
Everyone had finally entered the resort hotel’s lobby. Sean, Mike, Jack, and the rest of the Jersey contingent, along with Tommy, his squad, Jake, and the former residents of Diamond Sea Estates, were there. Also attending were Regina, whom they all had become friendly with, and Mel Gorman, a crusty charter-boat captain whom Jake had taken a liking to. Jake, seeing all were there, walked to the middle of the group seated around him.
“Thank you all very much for accepting my rather abrupt invitation for this informal meeting. I apologize for any disruptions this may have caused to your various agendas.
“As some of you already know, I’ve been communicating with a close friend of mine via the marine channel on the yacht. This person is Matt Logan. We have had several business dealings over the years and have become close friends.”
Tommy raised a hand with his index finger pointing up. “Excuse me, Jake. Is this the Matt Logan who heads Dark Delta Security?”
“Yes, it is,” said Jake, smiling.
“Wow,” said Tommy, eyes wide and head shaking. “That is heavy-duty.”
Jake nodded. “Of course. Matt Logan used to be a Delta Force operative when he was much younger. Using his knowledge and instinctive business acumen, he started a private security firm based in Washington, DC. I know, what with Blackwater and the rest, that the private security outfits have not had the best press out there. Matt was different, though. He used only highly vetted ex-Delta, Seal, or other Special Forces vets. Maintaining a training regime second to none and keeping only the best of the best, he hired out only to clients who were aboveboard and had America’s interests at heart. He wasn’t looking to loan mercenaries or adrenaline junkies to third-world dictatorships. Also—and this is not well known—he worked with some of our government agencies.”
“You mean like the CIA?” Naomi asked.
“Nooo, I’m speaking more of the kind that doesn’t have any initials and stays very black and deep cover,” Jake explained. “Anyway, Matt has a satellite office on the island of Antigua. After Pandora, the prime minister of Antigua invited Matt and his entire staff to take up residence on the island. In return for keeping the island zombie-free and keeping out any outside criminal cartels from using the island as their home, Matt would be given free rein to do as he saw fit. Matt, who had his men all over the globe, saw early on in Pandora that disaster was happening and flew all of his operatives home before the countries closed their airports. He has all his own planes, so that was not a problem. When he got the invitation, he jumped at the chance. He has been getting in touch with his various friends and business partners and inviting them to come to Antigua to help set up a competent infrastructure to rebuild a new island nation.”
Jake stopped and looked around the room. He was looking for early reactions to his information. He could already see that several of the group had already made the mental jump to where he was going.
“So,” he continued, “Matt asked me if I would come and help reestablish the economic infrastructure there.” Pausing, he glanced around. “I have accepted his offer. I think this is a good thing, a safe thing, and the right thing. I also spoke to him about everyone here in our situation. Matt assured me that all of you are invited and would be welcomed there. As he said to me, ‘We need good people here.’
“I know this is a sudden decision, and I understand that something of this magnitude needs time to digest. Today is Monday. I would like to leave by the weekend. I would love everyone to come with me. I immensely respect all of you, and frankly, I have grown quite fond of you. But I truly understand if you choose not to make the trip. This may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and you may have different goals to achieve. To those of you who stay, I sincerely wish you good luck, good health, and safety. But know this: the invitation is a standing offer. If you change your mind, you will always be welcome. I have some preparations to make now. Let’s all get together at a later time and revisit this to see where we all stand. Thank you.”
With that, Jake smiled a small smile, clasped Tommy on the shoulder, and walked out of the room. For a minute, everyone just sat there and looked at each other. Morris Jacobi glanced at his wife, Emma; took her hand; and stood up.
“Jake spoke to us earlier. We are going with him,” he said. Then he looked at Bob Mills who nodded at him. “Bob and Margaret are coming too.”
It was as if the floodgates opened at that point. Everyone started talking at the same time. Questions flew, opinions were given, and then more questions were asked. Most of these seemed to be of the going or staying variety. Sean at last stood up and put his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. This is getting us nowhere. Let’s break this meeting up and talk individually, and tomorrow we’ll meet again.”
“Good idea,” Tommy remarked. “I’d like to see everyone in my squad in the lounge right now.”
With everyone still talking and gesturing, though at a much quieter level, they all got up and walked out of the room in small groups. Sean, Linda, Mike, and Sue were softly talking when Jack came up to them.
“Some news, huh?” Mike said to Jack as he came up and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” said Jack, “although my brother Tommy suspected something like this was in the works.”
“Really?” Linda asked.
“Yeah, he told me the increased radio chatter gave him a heads-up that something was brewing, and he just put two and two together.”
“Well,” Sean said, “we all have a whole lot to talk about.”
Meanwhile, Tommy had gathered his men in the hotel lounge. He turned and looked at each one warmly.
“Okay guys,” he started, “as of right now, your tour of duty is officially over. It’s your life now, and I don’t want you to feel you have to do what I have to do. Go or stay; it’s okay with me eith
er way. It’s your decision, and I want you to do what you feel is best for each of you.”
“Well,” said Rich Foley, who had been, up until ten seconds ago, the squad’s corporal, “what are you going to do, Sarge?”
Tommy put his hand up to stop him. “No, no. I know what I’m doing, but I won’t let you know until each one of you decides for yourselves. As I said, it should be based on what you want, not what I want.”
“Aww, come on, Sarge,” whined Travis Cassidy. “Tell us.”
“Yeah, Sarge,” piped in Jamal Doakes. “At least a little hint.”
Laughing aloud, Tommy pointed at them and stated, “No. This time you’re going to tell me what you want to do.”
4
It was pouring rain in West Palm Beach. It was the rainy season there, and this was the fourth consecutive day of rain. Sitting in an apartment condo on the first floor of the Marina Palm Tower near the marina downtown were ten people. These were the only living souls left alive in the building. Except for one, all were residents of the posh condo complex.
Pacing back and forth in the living room of his condo, Stephen Dowd was rapidly deciding how he could more strongly present his argument. Steve was a forty-two-year-old gym owner with a very muscular build, a ruggedly handsome face, and a six-foot-two stature. He was the proud owner of Hard Body Heaven, the biggest, most popular complete gym in Palm Beach County. At least it had been until seven months ago, when Pandora sped into the solar system and ended his dream. He had been holed up in his building with his two friends and the rest of the remaining tenants since the whole apocalypse started. His two friends, Luke Adams and Josh Warner, were sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows watching him.
Luke was the forty-two-year-old owner of several restaurants in West Palm Beach and surrounding cities. He was originally from money in Connecticut. Though somewhat overweight, he had a great mop of chestnut-brown hair and Kennedy-esque looks and charm that worked very well for him, both socially and business-wise. He had decided to take a run at politics this year, figuring that if you look like JFK, you might as well take the obvious next step.
Next to him was the only nonresident in the room. Josh Warner lived two buildings down. He was a thirty-two-year-old attorney who had met Steve as a patron of his gym. He said he liked to stay in shape, and the two became friends. His former condo building had burned down a little over a month ago when a crippled and heavily smoking helicopter crashed into it and set the entire building ablaze. The copter had flown in hurriedly from the south trailing heavy black smoke. Then, as it had neared their area, it had suddenly shuddered, swerved, dropped, and flown right into the side of Josh’s concrete-and-glass structure. He had been able to get out unharmed and had made it over to Steve’s building safely. At the time, there hadn’t been a great deal of undead around the marina area, and he had been able to seek refuge there. Since then the number of zombies had increased greatly.
Steve glanced at his friends (with Luke giving him a thumbs-up) and started to speak. “I know everyone here feels safe where we are, but it is a false sense of security. When the streets were clearer of zombies, we were able to forage quite a bit of food and supplies from the surrounding businesses. We were fortunate in that a lot of people in West Palm left the city early. But now, the food is almost gone. Not only that, but the streets are now loaded with zombies. No more walking around doing food runs. Those days are gone.”
The group of tenants all looked at him with varying degrees of fear. The remaining seven people included Max Blair, a sixty-five-year-old retired plumbing contractor; Ana Beltran, the CEO of a local hospice care company; Karen Simon, Steve’s next-door neighbor and a twenty-six-year-old aerobics instructor; Dan Roebling, a rather gruff contractor; Gail Nesmith, a retired teacher who was very, very bright but a bit neurotic; and finally the Van Nesses, Mark and Ginger. They were a married thirtysomething couple who were relatively new to the area.
“How are we just supposed to leave?” asked Ana. Steve knew Ana always had an opinion on every subject and that she would be the first to speak.
“Yes. We can’t all just pick up and stroll out of the Tower,” Gail interjected. “You remember what happened to the Gersteins.”
Harold and Ida Gerstein were a seventy-five-year-old couple who had lived on the second floor. Two weeks ago, after the medicines had run out, they became more and more afraid of what might happen. The old couple had decided to get in their car and leave. The Marina Palm Tower had underground enclosed parking that had successfully sealed the cars off from the zombies. No amount of convincing could change their minds. They had packed their car with minimal essentials and, with Steve and Dan working the gate, left the confines of the Tower.
Watching from the roof, the rest of the survivors tracked the exodus from the safety of their bird’s-eye view. The white Lexus pulled out of the garage and up the small ramp. As the luxury car paused, it became apparent that this trip had not been completely thought out. As the car idled, zombies started to converge on the elderly couple from both sides. As if suddenly realizing their precarious position, they turned to the right and hit the gas. Plowing through the encroaching undead, they sped up the block. As they neared the corner, swerving back and forth, they unknowingly ran over a baby carriage that was lying on its side. The unfortunate couple was trying to avoid a knot of zombies that were coming onto the street. There was a nerve-shattering metallic screech as the carriage disappeared under the wheels and a shower of sparks as they awkwardly sped around the corner.
The mangled stroller must have interfered with the steering because the white Lexus plowed directly into the side of a parked Cadillac. The loud crunch and breaking glass shocked the startled observers. Harry Gerstein shifted into reverse with violently shaking hands. His wife, Ida, initially dazed, began to scream her husband’s name as he fumbled at the wheel. Finally shifting the car into reverse, Harry tried to back up. The Lexus’s bumper was caught on the crumpled fender of the other automobile. Both cars were stuck fast. He had his foot jammed on the gas as he swung the steering wheel back and forth in increasingly panicked turns. Smoke from burning rubber surrounded the spinning tires. As the zombies reached the car and started pounding on it, the situation turned from bad to worse. Ida Gerstein, screaming and totally hysterical, was clawing at her face. Her husband, starting to cry, turned to her and yelled, “We’re stuck!”
She stopped for an instant, staring at him dumbly, and then screamed, “Nooo!” She threw open her door and ran out. Amazingly, she made it almost six feet before she was swarmed and taken down.
Harry saw all of this from the driver’s-side seat. He was calling his wife’s name when the first zombie, a man in his fifties with milky eyes and most of his nose chewed off, bent over and climbed into the car. Harold Gerstein grabbed his left shoulder as a sharp pain shot across his chest. He pushed himself against the door to escape the entering zombie and accidentally hit the door handle. Tumbling backward, he fell on his head in the street. Mercifully, he died of a massive coronary seconds before the rest of the undead converged onto his body.
“Yeah, I remember,” said Steve, shaking his head. “How can I ever forget? That was a tragedy, but they were unprepared. They didn’t have a plan. They just figured they could drive out of here, and good things would happen.”
Seeing a couple of heads starting to shake already, Luke Adams stood up. “Steve’s right you know. They rushed out and died a horrible death, but that doesn’t mean we will too. Besides, like he said, we don’t have any more food. We’re down to eating peanut butter out of the jar and drinking the remnants of our toilet bowl tanks. We can’t last here. One by one, we’ll starve to death and join the others banging at the doors of their apartments looking for fresh meat. I’m for leaving. And that’s sooner rather than later.”
“I agree,” stated Max Blair. “I am only sixty-five. I’m way too young to die here.”
Steve chuckled then said, “All right, let’s take a vote and se
e where we stand. All in favor of leaving raise your hands.”
Steve, Luke, Josh, Max, and Karen immediately raised their hands high. Mark and Ginger Van Ness looked at each other and then slowly raised their hands.
Dan, the retired contractor, grumbled to himself then said, “If we do this, we need an ironclad plan. We can’t just go out there willy-nilly you know. We have to plan this carefully.”
“You’re right,” said Steve.
“I don’t think there is any such thing as an ironclad plan,” stated Max. “I was a Marine, and I know that any plan ends at the first shot fired. But at least we’ll have plans for A, B, C, or D. That’s the way to do it. Plan for all contingencies.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, then. We carefully plan for anything that can happen.” He slapped the coffee table with the flat of his hand. “I’m in.”
“Well, I’m not,” stated Ana sternly. She turned to the retired teacher, Gail Nesmith. “You’re a smart woman, Gail. You know that the minute we step outside of this building, we will be swarmed and eaten by the hundreds…no, thousands of zombies out there. We won’t stand a chance. Hell, we don’t even have any guns.”
“That’s not entirely true, Ana,” Max said with a smile. “I happen to have two.”
“I have one,” added Josh. Everyone looked at him, so he explained. “I’m a criminal attorney. I thought I should have protection.”
“Nonetheless,” Ana huffed, “we’re not soldiers. No one has any training.”
“Hey, some of us served,” said Max indignantly.
Pandora 2: Death is not an Option Page 2
