by D. J. Molles
Tomlin nodded in agreement. “Maybe he just happened to grab the one infected lady that was gonna have a giant fucking baby. Could be a deformity.”
“Could be,” Jenny said stiffly.
Lee said nothing. His gaze was somewhere else because he wasn’t there at that moment. He was standing in a dark room, acrid smoke boiling around him, ears ringing from a grenade blast, looking at the silhouette of LaRouche going deeper and deeper into the room. And then he was looking down at the bodies. The torn-up, bloody bodies.
Swollen, pregnant bellies.
LaRouche, gut-shooting them, one by one, with a blank look of apathy on his face.
And Lee was thinking, Is this what three months pregnant looks like?
The bellies were terribly large in his memory. Stretched tight like they were already on the cusp of giving birth. But maybe that was just his memory, hyperbolizing the things he saw, distilling them down to their essences.
Or maybe that was just how the bellies on those dead bodies had looked. Because they were all three months pregnant with a six-month-old fetus. Because every damn one of them had abnormal fetal growth rate.
“There’s just…” Tomlin was saying, his voice tight. “There’s just no fucking way, you know? There’s no fucking way we’re seeing biological changes in these things. They’re just people. Just sick people. Gone crazy. Sick, crazy people. That’s it.”
“That’s bullshit,” Lee said without much emotion in it. He looked at Tomlin. “They’ve already changed. Their metabolism changed. Their physical abilities changed…”
“That just how crazy people are,” Tomlin said. “Like people on drugs. They can push their bodies harder than the rest because they’re mentally disconnected.”
“How do you explain the hunters, then?” Lee quirked his eyebrows. “You gonna sit there and tell me they’re not physiologically different? Hell, they even look different.” Lee shuddered, thinking of the small but obvious ways they seemed to have changed. The way their fingers seemed more clawlike, their jaws just a little wider than they should have been. “We’ve seen them climb walls. Jump shit they shouldn’t be able to jump. Run faster than they should be able to run.”
Tomlin wasn’t convinced. “It’s just mental disconnect.”
“It’s unnatural,” Lee said, stubbornly.
Tomlin pointed a finger at him. “So you want me to believe that a bacteria is causing genetic mutations in the span of three or four months?”
“I don’t need to ask you to believe it,” Lee said, his voice rising. “It’s already been proven. Jacob said their metabolism was jacked up in ways he couldn’t explain. In a modern fucking laboratory, in a CDC research facility, surrounded by a team of scientists, they couldn’t explain what the bacteria was doing to these people. The question now isn’t whether it’s possible—we know it’s fucking possible, because it’s been observed! The question now is how far do these changes go? Jacob recorded subjects’ bodies burning through almost twice the calories they should normally be eating and still losing weight. Is it that far of a stretch to say their bodies are growing or changing more rapidly? That a fetus would grow more rapidly?”
“So you think this isn’t isolated,” Tomlin said.
“I’m saying we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility.”
“Okay.” Tomlin held his hands up. “Let’s go down the fucking rabbit hole here. Let’s say this is pervasive. Let’s say every pregnant infected huddling in those dens has”—he searched for the words—“ abnormal fetus growth, or whatever. What are the chances of them actually carrying to term? Having a live birth?”
Jenny fielded the question. “Well, the subject that Jacob had was showing some vaginal bleeding. Which is never a good sign in a pregnant female. It shows there’s some sort of stress there—fetal stress, or system stress. Like I said, Jacob believed it was indicative with the female’s womb unable to keep up with the growth rate of the child.”
“So this thing grows so big the female’s body can’t hold it, and she miscarries.” Tomlin raised his eyebrows, as though searching for affirmation that this was indeed a possibility.
Jenny shrugged again. “Maybe. There’s no telling. Vaginal bleeding is just a bad sign. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the pregnancy is doomed. Plenty of women show some bleeding during pregnancy and don’t lose their baby.”
“Humor me here,” Tomlin said. “The thing keeps growing, and let’s assume Jacob was right assuming that the female’s body can’t keep up. Eventually something is going to give and that things is coming out, right?”
Jenny nodded, a little unsure.
“So does it die because it’s birthed five months too early? Does the female die? Do they both die?” Tomlin looked briefly hopeful. “Maybe they’re all just ticking time bombs. Maybe this whole issue will just solve itself.”
“I don’t think we’re dealing with gigantism,” Lee said. “Meaning that I don’t think the faster growth rate of the fetus—if it is actually pervasive among the pregnant females—means that it’s going to be a larger… specimen. Maybe it’s just maturing faster.”
“Maybe it’s the gestation period that has changed,” Jenny added. “Maybe it’s shorter in infected females.”
“Like animals,” Angela said.
“Like animals,” Jenny agreed.
“Okay.” Tomlin shook his head. “We seem to be accepting a lot of theory as fact here.”
“You said you wanted to go down the rabbit hole,” Lee pointed out.
“So where’s it end?” Tomlin asked. “What’s all of this mean for us?”
“Well, if it is like Jacob seemed to think it is, then I’d say the infected are not only propagating, which was bad enough, but they’re doing it in half the time that they should.” Lee didn’t quite know what to think, bouncing back and forth between this is complete bullshit and what if it’s possible? “And if they’re growing and changing that fast, then you might reasonably assume that whatever the fuck comes out of that pregnant female will continue to mature faster. Possibly becoming a threat a lot sooner.”
“We need to figure out a way to deal with this,” Angela said suddenly, her spine straightening as she looked back and forth between Lee and Tomlin. “Whether or not Jacob’s theory holds true, this needs to be handled. Maybe we need to start hunting these dens…”
“We’re overextended as it is,” Lee said. “Most of the people I would trust to get that job done are already working on keeping the northern hordes from crossing into North Carolina.” He looked at Angela. “I agree. It needs to be dealt with. But until we get some more manpower and equipment, we just can’t foot the bill right now.”
Angela looked like she wanted to say more, but then seemed to become thoughtful. Rolling something over in her mind. She was inspecting the low-bitten nail of her index finger.
The next voice to fill the silence was one Lee hadn’t expected to hear.
The radio cracked, hissed, and the voice spoke with urgency: “Harper to Camp Ryder. Anyone monitoring?”
Harper half-stood, half-sat in the passenger seat of his Humvee, glaring out to where the winding driveway of the mansion disappeared into looming trees. Beyond that, the small town of Eden. And inside the small town, bad things. Many, many bad things.
He felt tweakish. His stomach jumping and jittering. His legs wouldn’t stay still. His finger kept tapping on the handset he held as he waited impatiently for some sort of response. It was just him and Sergeant Kensey there. Everyone else was inside the mansion. “Mingling,” possibly. More likely staring at each other like two cliques vastly opposed.
It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.
Kensey was also waiting for a response, but he was communicating with someone very different, and he displayed much more patience than Harper. Kensey held a satellite phone, the only method of communication between him and Camp Lejeune, where his command was centered. He had spoken very briefly a few moments ago and had since been silent
with a blank look on his face.
On hold, was Harper’s best guess.
Harper took a short, frustrated breath and was about to key up again to speak when his own radio speaker crackled and spoke.
“Harper.” It was Lee. “You got me. Go ahead.”
“Lee,” Harper almost burst. “Dammit, I got some bad news. Mostly. Mostly bad news, but possibly some good news. Or at least a fix.”
“Okay, buddy.” Lee’s voice was cautious. “Slow down and explain.”
“You know the squad that Colonel Staley promised us?” Harper caught a sharp glance from Kensey. He took a pause to gather his thoughts and choose his words more carefully. “They arrived today. But… unfortunately… they weren’t authorized to help us blow the bridges.”
Silence.
Silence for a long, uncomfortable minute.
Kensey was staring at the radio speaker in Harper’s Humvee now. Harper wouldn’t have characterized the Marine’s expression as “concerned.” More like he was just curious what the response was going to be, and was expecting it to be loud and full of expletives.
Instead, Lee’s voice was focused and careful. “Did they tell you why?”
“Apparently Staley doesn’t want to commit resources until he’s met you and given your plan his stamp of approval.” Harper bit the inside of his lip and wondered what was going on in that dark little office inside the Camp Ryder building. Was Lee cursing a blue streak on the other side of that radio transmission? Or was he just staring at the radio with his head in his hands, trying to figure out what the fuck they were going to do next?
When Lee did speak, his tone was clipped, his voice somewhat strained. “Well, did they give any sort of idea of when Colonel Staley was going to be able to”—here his voice rose in volume—“make time for us?”
Unbelievably, Kensey smiled when he heard this. Like it was a mildly funny joke.
His eyes don’t smile, Harper noted. Just his mouth.
“Well,” Harper said, looking right at Kensey, “apparently there’s been some lack of solid intelligence on what’s going on up north. So I showed them, and now the sergeant over here is trying to make contact with his command to relay the situation and hopefully light a fire.”
“So how much time do we have, Harper? Because it didn’t sound like we had a whole lot last time I spoke with you. And now we’re facing another fucking delay.”
Harper took another deep breath. “No, Lee, it’s not looking good. They came across last night—not all of them, but enough that it’s gonna be a real bitch to try to take down the bridges in the center of town. Most of them are still on the east side of the river, but I think the forage is drying up over there. We keep seeing more and more of them showing up on the east side of town every day.”
This time Harper could almost hear Lee’s voice, like he was in the office with him: “Fuck, fuck, fuck… this is not good, Harper. Not good at all.”
But instead, Lee just said, “That’s our bottleneck, Harper. It’s our pinch point. If we lose that city and can’t close it down then it’s just gonna make our job twice as hard and twice as dangerous when the hordes start hitting the gap.” The irritation in Lee’s voice ratcheted up. “Is the sergeant there with you now? Can he hear what I’m saying?”
Harper looked at Kensey, but then he straightened and his attention went elsewhere. Harper could hear the sound of a voice coming through on the satellite phone, barely audible to Harper. Kensey immediately turned away from Harper and faced the opposite direction.
“Yes, sir. It’s Sergeant Kensey, sir.”
Harper hit the transmit button again. “Hey, Lee, stand by for a second. The sergeant is speaking with his command right now.”
Silence on the radio.
Silence as Harper waited, like a guilty man waiting for the verdict to be handed down by the foreman of the jury. He realized his mouth was open and he closed it. Kensey huddled close to the mouthpiece of his phone, like he was trying to be discreet, but Harper could hear every word he said. He just couldn’t hear what was said back.
“Situation is that I don’t think they were exaggerations.”
Pause.
“No, sir.”
Pause.
“From what I can tell, the estimates are accurate and the concern is legitimate… Yes, sir… I would characterize it as urgent… Within a day, tops… That’s up to you, sir. I’m just relaying what I’ve seen… Sir, I think it’s as good as any. And I’m not coming up with anything better off the top of my head… Yes, sir. Standby.”
Kensey didn’t disconnect the phone. Instead, he put it to his shoulder and turned to face Harper. “Colonel says he wants to meet. Is that your man on the radio?”
Harper nodded, then keyed up. “Lee.”
Lee’s voice: “Go ahead.”
“Colonel Staley has found some time for us.”
ELEVEN
RISK AND REWARD
TOMLIN WAS NOT HAPPY. He stalked alongside Lee, his hands out of his pockets and swinging with his rapid steps. Lee wasn’t walking particularly fast, but he was walking with purpose, and he had a longer stride than Tomlin, despite the hitch in his gait.
“This is dumb,” Tomlin said, point-blank. “Dumb, and I don’t like it.”
The Camp Ryder building was behind them. Their footsteps were crunching through gravel. The sunshine felt good on Lee’s face, but the air was still cold and he could still see his breath, even at this midday hour. Ahead of them lay Shantytown, the collection of ramshackle huts that sprawled out in front of the Camp Ryder building. There were more of them now than there had ever been. During the assault on Camp Ryder, and the subsequent attack from the infected hunters, several of the shanties had been destroyed. Now they had either been rebuilt or repaired. Old Man Hughes and his dozen or so folks from Dunn had moved back in to Camp Ryder for the time being—Lillington would have to remain abandoned for a while.
There was also a group of a dozen or so that had been with Jacob. A week or so ago, they had fled an attack on them from the Followers, met with LaRouche as he was going east, and were advised to try to make contact with the Camp Ryder Hub at Smithfield. Of course, this had been before the Camp Ryder Hub was broken apart by Jerry. And when that group of refugees reached Smithfield, they didn’t find a welcome party.
What they found was a doctor that turned them away at the point of a gun.
And a “kind of crazy-looking” scientist that “stood up for them,” though the leader of that group—Brett was his name—didn’t explain what that entailed. Just implied it with a grim look. In Lee’s conversations with Jacob, he got the impression that Doc Hamilton and his two thugs had been killed, and Lee suspected that Jacob had done it.
“You’ve already voiced your concerns,” Lee said to Tomlin, keeping his tone even-keel. “I get it. I do. But I’m fresh out of options right now, Brian. If everything goes perfectly, there’s still a good chance that we’re fucked in the long run.”
“Then why risk it?” Tomlin groaned. “It’s unnecessary!”
“No, it’s completely necessary.” Lee stopped and looked at Tomlin. “Our window of opportunity is closing pretty fuckin’ quick, man. And once it’s gone, it’s gone. Then we’re fighting a whole different battle, and”—Lee lowered his voice—“it’s one I don’t think we can win.”
Tomlin digested that, but still didn’t seem entirely convinced.
Lee pushed on. “A few days ago you were all about getting Colonel Staley’s help. Now he’s offering to meet and you’re blowing your fucking lid.”
Tomlin rolled his eyes and made a frustrated noise. “He’s offering to meet. After he has failed to give us the assistance that he promised us, which I think should at least make you question his trustworthiness. Now he’s choosing the place and time of the meeting, which he wants in a third-party location, outside of Camp Ryder.” Tomlin shook his head, resolutely. “I don’t like it.”
Lee ticked his points off on his fingers. �
��First of all, he never promised us anything. We told him what we wanted, and he said he would try to help where he could, provided he agreed with our plan. Anything we read into that statement was our own fucking fault—he never said he was sending a demolition team, or even enough troops to help defend Eden while our people demo’d the bridges. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as pissed about this shit as you are. But would you commit your resources before you’ve even met with the man pulling the strings?
“And second of all, and most importantly…” Lee punctuated his words with his hands. “We don’t. Have. A choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Tomlin said, stubbornly.
Lee shook his head and started walking again. “You’re right. But I refuse the other options. How’s that?”
“What if he’s in communication with President Briggs and the interior states?”
Lee thought about that for a few beats, but it was not like Lee had not already considered it. But in his considerations he had not been able to come up with a logical answer. Eventually, he just said quietly, “It’s a risk we’re going to have to take.”
Tomlin half-sighed, half-growled. “Fine. I voiced my opinion.”
“You did.” Lee glanced at him over his shoulder. “By the way, there’s something else you’re not going to like.”
“What?”
They were interrupted by Devon, who jogged up to Lee’s side. “Nate’s on the way, and I told Old Man Hughes and Brett to meet at the Square. What’s going on?”
“Just a bunch of shit,” Lee said.
“Oh.”
Tomlin nudged Lee in the arm. “Hey. What are you talking about? Something else I’m not gonna like?”
Lee stopped again, motioned Devon to continue on to the Square without them. He turned to Tomlin. “I’ve got something else I need you to be doing. For Camp Ryder. For everyone.”
