Exit Zero (Book 2): Nuke Jersey

by Neil A. Cohen

  The military took a solemn oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States and to obey the orders of the President of the United States.

  Law enforcement took an oath to serve and protect the public.

  PCRC contractors took a piss test.

  Maxwell walked into Patrick’s office and closed the door behind him, nearly physically pushing the trailing Mr. Spenser. The man was suffering nothing but indignities today.

  “Mr. President,” Maxwell began in a placating tone. “You asked to see me?”

  Patrick clasped his hands together. “I asked that you continue your meeting in here. Who were you meeting with?”

  “The meeting had just wrapped up. It was not anything to concern yourself with.”

  “Who was it with?” Patrick snapped.

  Maxwell raised his eyebrow like a professor whose pupil was being insolent. “It was with the head of transportation for the state.” Maxwell enunciated each syllable with a little pop. He acted calm, yet irritated. “We were discussing the secure transport of freight in and out of the state as soon as the borders are reopened. My next meeting is with the head of sanitation. The department is concerned about waste management and ensuring our containment teams are not mixing of biohazard materials with standard trash. Would you like to join in on that meeting?”

  Patrick knew he was being talked down to. He had not slept more than two hours at a time over the past two weeks and was in no mood for condescension. His nights were spent obsessively reading the comments under every news story featuring his name. The hatred of these trolls burned through their keyboards and came at him like thousands of tiny daggers.

  “I saw men in uniforms. Generals,” Patrick said. “Were they here to talk about trash transport also?”

  “No, that was not a general, it was an admiral from the Navy that was here to brief us on those abandoned ships floating off the coast. The unfortunate sailors who were infected have been consolidated to a single vessel that is housing them in quarantine until a cure is found. The other two ships are being decontaminated and will be moved into deeper water, replaced by Coast Guard craft that will now take over the shore protection.”

  Maxwell recounted his allegedly dull meetings. “A representative from the Army was here yesterday to discuss repurposing some equipment that is returning from Afghanistan. With the war winding down, they are looking to sell off some of their extra assets, armored vehicles, deployable buildings, et cetera. They are offering PCRC some deals if we purchase in larger quantities. After all, I still have a business to run, and I have been buying the military’s hand-me-downs for years—long before I served you as president, and even before I served you your first slice of cake at your eighth grade graduation party. Is this of concern to you?”

  Patrick did not appreciate having things explained to him like he was still in eighth grade. He rose from his chair and stood behind his desk. “I’m sorry Max. I think I’m just tired. Getting grumpy. I apologize for interrupting you.”

  Maxwell faked a smile. “Of course, and you are never interrupting me. I am here to serve you and your administration. I apologize for holding my business meetings here, it is not professional, this is the Oval Office for now, and I should treat it as such.” Maxwell said, forcing humility that felt like hot ash in his mouth.

  Both stood there, looking at each other, waiting to see if either would offer one last fake apology.

  Maxwell turned and opened the office door and walked out, brushing past Spencer, whose ear was still warm from having it pressed up against the door.

  Patrick walked towards the door. Spencer, still outside, began to ask if he should continue his briefings, but did not get to finish his sentence as Patrick slowly closed the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 26

  BMW flew his helicopter to the location of the final transponder ping. It was the last known location of the stolen truck containing MEAT. 7322 and Daniel sat behind the pilot in the passenger section along with 9104. She’d been chosen to replace 0303, who was still suffering from the indignities thrust upon him.

  As dusk settled, Daniel looked down at the empty streets.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” Daniel said to no one in particular.

  7322 said, “Sundown curfew. New rules until this situation is resolved.”

  Daniel scoffed. “Since when the hell does anyone in Jersey obey the rules? I don’t even see any of your patrols out there. What’s stopping them from going out if they want to?”

  “We are keeping the heavy security presence consolidated to the urban zones,” 7322 explained. “Out here, in middle-class land, heavy handed enforcement is not really needed. You see the people in these upper middle class areas, they own their own homes, drive two cars, and have the obligatory two point five kids, usually in private schools. They don’t require the forced compliance that other areas do. The reason most of these people have those nice houses and cars and privately educated kids is, basically, because they follow the rules. Societies have rules, and by most counts, those that follow the rules succeed.”

  “People are not going to take this martial law crap too much longer,” Daniel warned. “Sooner or later, if this drags on, people will get pissed.”

  7322 took on a dismissive tone. “Sure they will. I am sure we will receive some harshly worded emails or be the subject of some terse tweets. I think we will be able to weather that storm. Ultimately, most people will fall in line. They are sacrificing a little bit of their personal freedoms for a greater feeling of security. Happens all the time. When changes in routine are announced, and the public is told to comply for their own safety, people usually don’t push back that hard. They just adapt. If I told you before September 2001 that we would have domestic surveillance, strip searches before boarding a commercial flight, bomb scanners at football games, all that, you would have laughed in my face. Well, it’s policy now. People don’t like punishment, but they understand policy. These new rules are not punishment, they’re just policy.”

  Daniel thought for a moment. Then shook his head. “That’s bullshit. No one is entitled to get on a plane, just like you’re not entitled to drive a car. People are willing to get a driver’s license before they drive, and get a gun permit before they buy a gun. Now, you’re restricting when people can and can’t leave their own homes.” Daniel pulled at the collar of his new black tactical outfit and pointed to the 8150 identifier. “People are entitled to wear what they want to wear, and to have their own name and identity, not numbers.”

  “Okay,” 7322 continued. “I can use a more apt analogy. You and your brothers all went to Catholic high school, correct? And had to wear the school uniform every day?”

  “Yeah, we started in public school, but my brother and I were kicked out in fourth grade.”

  7322 nodded. “I went to a private school as well. It was not a religious school, but a private institution where we also wore uniforms.”

  “I bet you looked adorable,” Daniel said.

  7322 ignored the crack and carried on. “While you were in Catholic school, you had dress down days where you could wear whatever you wanted. I bet you looked forward to those days, excited to wear the same type of clothes you did when you were in public school before you were busted for stealing and selling your teachers’ weed.”

  Daniel thought back to a much happier time in his life. “Yeah, that’s true. Wait, how the fuck do you know so much about me?”

  “I have been working for Max for a long time.” 7322 replied.

  Daniel had no idea where this analogy was going. “So what’s your point?”

  7322 smiled. “So when you were in public school, you used to wear whatever you wanted, every day. But then, when the situation changed, you followed the new rules and policies and wore a school uniform every day. You didn’t like it, but you adjusted. Then, later on, as a reward for good behavior or a school success, the kids were given a little bit of their freedom back. Something they used to tak
e for granted, wearing jeans and a t-shirt to school. But now you and the rest of the kids are jumping for joy to get a single day of that self-determination back. I bet you even thanked the principal for granting it and allowing you to wear jeans. Imagine that, being thankful for a single day of personal freedom, something that you used to have every day and took for granted.”

  Daniel had never looked at it that way.

  7322 ended the lesson. “When you went to your new Catholic school, they did not take the freedom away from you as ‘punishment.’ I bet if they had allowed it to seem like a punishment, you would have rebelled, tore up the uniform, wore jeans every day till the principle cracked or kicked you out. But since it was just the new policy you had to live by under the new circumstances, you accepted it.

  “Later, when they gave you little bits of that freedom back as a reward, you were grateful for the gift. Funny how that works, huh? What is important is that the public sees these new restrictions and rules as policy under a changed circumstance. It’s not punishment, it’s just policy.”

  CHAPTER 27

  BMW set the chopper down in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant called Happy Burger. The lot was an open area closest to where the last truck transponder ping had been recorded. This was in a residential area of central Jersey. The burger place appeared open for business, with all lights on, but they could see through the windows that the place was empty. Across the street stood a local steakhouse that also appeared open and had many cars in the parking lot. Curfew approached fast, so diners should be finishing up and heading home.

  The crew took a visual survey of the area from inside the copter, but saw no sign of people, alive or...whatever. BMW shut his machine down and the blades slowed and grew still.

  They saw no immediate sign of the missing truck.

  “Hold up, I have to use the restroom,” 9104 announced and began walking towards the entrance of the Happy Burger.

  “Whoa, ma’am, we need to be careful,” BMW warned.

  “What are you afraid of?” 9104 said as she opened the glass door to the fast food joint and yelled in “Hey! Any zombies in here? Wooo hooo, zombies, come out come out wherever you are.”

  7322 shook his head. He knew 9104 before their current positions within PCRC. She had always been a ball buster. Probably a defense mechanism from being an attractive woman who wanted to show she could hang with the guys. She had worked for the police department as a hostage negotiator, and thus was trained to stay calm in very tense situations. She also had the ability to calm others. She had left the force and joined PCRC after a call out went exceptionally bad. A successful negotiation should end with no use of force and both victims and perp unharmed.

  9104’s final call out ended with everyone dead, including some kids.

  When PCRC announced the formation of the new security contractor force, she was one of the first to join.

  “This area has had no recent reports of infected, so we should be okay,” 9104 assured her counterparts.

  Nothing responded to her taunts. She entered and the others followed.

  The place was indeed empty, yet all the lights were on, the doors unlocked, and the grills seemed to have shut down automatically as burned pucks that were once cooking burgers lay cold and black on the grill. The dining area was messy, but no more so than a typical fast food joint after a busy night.

  9104 made a beeline towards the ladies’ room. 7322 sat down at one of the window booths and kept an eye out for movement. Daniel and BMW made their way behind the counter to see if anything edible was readily available.

  “See if the soda machine still works, I need a drink,” Daniel suggested.

  BMW walked towards the soda fountain, and it was there that he first saw the blood splatter around the small cove where workers would stand to deliver drive-through orders. The retractable window there was cracked and hanging off its hinges. The floor was covered with cups, lids, straws, condiment packets, and blood.

  “Shit, whatever happened here happened at the drive through.” BMW said.

  Daniel grumbled. “Maybe they messed up the wrong guy’s order. Not getting the right happy meal toy can do that to you.”

  “I hate the drive-through, they always screw it up.”

  Their joking was a cover for nervousness. Both men had encountered Skells several times already and knew how fast things can go bad.

  7322 stood up, turning his head so he could look at both them while keeping an eye out the window. A monitor displayed static above the cracked window. He said, “That must be the security camera that records drivers as they approach for the order and captures images of assholes who start trouble.”

  Daniel reached up and hit the rewind button.

  The digital recording jumped back to the beginning of the session. A timestamp told them it was yesterday. Daniel reached up again and hit fast forward. It sped through a typical day. People zooming through to grab their cheap grub.

  Then two Happy Burger employees appeared obviously agitated on the screen.

  Daniel hit play. The action slowed to normal speed. While there was no sound, it showed an SUV rolling up to the drive through at high speed and sideswiping the building. The car backed up, scraped along the wall of the building, then came to a stop. When the driver’s side window was perfectly aligned with the take out window, the driver, a woman, was acting erratically. Rocking violently back and forth in her seat as if throwing a tantrum. The two workers seemed to be trying to talk with her through the window, perhaps to calm her down or identify why she was so manic.

  The woman then slammed her fist into her own stomach. Over and over. Like she was trying to beat something out of herself. The girl behind the window reached out to try and stop her, but it was a fatal mistake.

  The woman turned her rage away from her own stomach and grabbed the burger girl. She caught hold of the girl’s uniform and hair and violently pulled her partially out of the order window.

  Two coworkers ran to the girl’s aid, but by now the woman was biting large chunks of the flailing burger girl’s face. Parts of her cheek came away in ragged, bloody heaps. A man in a white, short sleeved dress shirt ran into the picture, possibly the manager, and joined in on the attempt to pull the girl back in. Another coworker could be seen on a cell phone, pacing, perhaps calling 911.

  A second car rammed into the vehicle’s rear, pushing the SUV forward. The mad woman driver had not let go of the burger girl. Her body got pulled out the window.

  One of the counter girls covered her face and ran out of view. The manager leaned out the window, looking for where the SUV had gone, not realizing the car behind was populated by a driver attempting to escape his ravenous two children in the back seat. A fiendish back-seat monster-child reached his body through the car window and grabbed the manager, yanking his arm forward and biting it, removing a mouthful of hairy forearm flesh.

  The horrified fast food manager pulled his wounded arm back and ran from the camera’s field of view. The father of the two monster boys must have managed to get his foot back on the accelerator—his car sped out of frame just as one of the children was using its teeth to peel back the man’s scalp like the skin of a grapefruit. Rivulets of blood cascaded down his face.

  The camera kept recording the drive-through area, but it only showed shadows of the pandemonium in the restaurant until the system ran out of digital storage space and stopped.

  The time stamp told them that this horrific scene had been recorded earlier today. What 7322 wondered was why he saw no reports from this area of Skell activity. He thought that someone would have wandered in and seen the scene and reported it by now. A PCRC clean up team should have been dispatched immediately, and within a couple hours, depending on the severity of the carnage, would have made the location of the attack look as if nothing had ever happened.

  Someone had really dropped the ball here.

  Or, perhaps, there was no one left to report what happened.

  The
ladies’ room door slammed against the wall. 9104 burst out, her hands around the neck of a ragged, bloody man. The two of them spun together and bounced off the walls like a pinball.

  CHAPTER 28

  The three men pulled their guns

  9104 held the bloody man with a stiff arm as he extended his head and neck forward, snapping his jaw at her. “Kill him!” she cried. She gave one last spin and threw herself backwards away from the attacker.

  Daniel instinctively shot the man in the head. He scored a hit between the eyes. A bucket load of brain matter blasted out the back of its skull, but the man’s rage was only briefly halted. The infected straightened himself into a standing position and resumed his march towards Daniel.

  Daniel got off two more rounds, but the Skell was quick and Daniel lost his footing, falling backwards on the greasy restaurant floor. BMW kicked the attacker hard in the side and the man flew off Daniel and rolled across the floor.

  The attacker scrambled, his teeth biting the air in anticipation, and rushed again for Daniel.

  Daniel pulled the tactical knife from his hip and stabbed upwards into the attacker’s stomach. He dragged the blade sideways, slicing open the Skell’s abdomen, allowing the stomach to squish down. The attacker became confused and ceased his attack. Daniel pushed the gore-soaked man off and stood, backing away from the scene. The Skell slowly rose, a good part of its guts hanging out of the gaping wound. The stomach sloshed forward and fell out of the incision. The large organ, suspended by the esophagus, swung back and forth like a pendulum in front of the Skell’s legs.

  The Skell took a slow single step forward, then another. He was alive, but winding down, as if he were falling asleep.

  It was then that Daniel and BMW noticed the strange, grotesque formation of the stomach. Even though they had never seen the entire organ up close, Daniel had seen enough combat wounds to know that the human stomach should not look like what he was seeing.