by Weston Ochse
He marched down the hall and turned back to Natasha. "I'll give you one chance. You call to him and get him out here and it will be the safest thing for him. If Phillips and Roscoe go in after him, there's no telling what will happen."
Natasha just stared back at Hopkins. She knew the truth of what he said, but what was she to do? If she was even to acknowledge that Metzger was there, it would be his death sentence. The only thing she could do was wait it out and hope for the best.
Hopkins shook his head, then knocked on the door. "Hello in there?"
There was no answer.
He knocked a little harder. "Open up, please."
A female voice came through the wood, speaking in Chinese. "Bié jìnlai! Bié jìnlai! Wo shi chìluóluó."
Hopkins glanced at each of the soldiers, who shrugged in response, then shook his head and frowned. "Open the door or we're going to break it down."
The voice repeated, "Bié jìnlai! Bié jìnlai! Wo shi chìluóluó."
Hopkins stepped back and pointed to the door. One of the soldiers kicked hard at the door knob. The door shattered at the lock and flung open.
The soldier spoke for the first time. "Oh - my - God!"
"Please! Get out of here!" came Auntie Lin's hysterical shriek.
Natasha ran over to see what was going on, imagining monsters. This time no one stopped her. When she looked in, she was as startled as the soldier beside her.
Hopkins averted his gaze, a look of disgust on his face. "Get in there and check for Metzger," he said.
The soldiers didn't move, but he yelled at them until they entered.
Auntie Lin backed away and sat on a cedar chest, almost knocking over a picture sitting on it. She crossed her legs demurely and stared daggers at the soldiers checking under her bed and inside her closet. When they didn't find anyone, they turned to Hopkins.
He was far from pleased. "Wherever he is," he snarled, "know that we'll be watching for him. Specialist Metzger is a dangerous man. Listen to him at your own risk."
He glanced once more at Auntie Lin, then turned his head and left in disgust. The soldiers followed him to the front of the trailer. When they left, Veronica slammed the door behind them, then locked it.
Natasha turned to Auntie Lin with a What the hell were you thinking? look.
Auntie Lin cackled happily as she stood, crossed the room, and donned a robe.
"What's so funny?" Natasha asked.
"This old body still has its uses."
Natasha couldn't help but smirk. And the smirk turned into a full-fledged smile when the cedar chest opened and Metzger climbed out.
It had become a daily regimen to face off against his captured monster. Gerald Duphrene had finished a lunch of tuna salad and sliced apples, washed his dishes, dusted the inside of the trailer, and now found himself parked in front of the Silvas' trailer once again.
He couldn't be certain, but he believed that the monster scared him a little less now than it did yesterday. Knowledge will set you free, he told himself. For that matter, whatever kind of monster this is it can't be as bad as the thousands of Chinese soldiers who charged your position every day for three years.
"Fucking gook bastards."
He grinned as he said it. Funny how things he'd thought left behind in the war could come back and help him in the present day. He trundled up the steps into the house. The bedroom door was still cracked. He heard the monster before he saw it. It made that peculiar wheezing sound, as if it were trying to breathe but had forgotten how.
Gerald thought of an asthmatic he'd known in basic training. The poor sap had wanted to join the army so badly. His brother had served in the Pacific against the Japs and all he wanted to do was share in the family fame. But try as he might, even a round of push-ups would leave him gasping helplessly for air. Gerald couldn't remember the boy's name, but the sound he made was like the sound the monster made. The comparison helped him. After all, who could be afraid of an asthmatic monster?
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. For a second he wanted to turn and run, but he beat that feeling into submission with his mantra.
The monster hadn't changed much. Its uniform still hung in tatters over green skin. Its hair grew in clumps, like grass in the seams of the sidewalk. The eyes still shone with yellow determination. More importantly, the jaws of the trap still held the leg.
"How ya doing, you fucking gook bastard?" Gerald kept his voice under control.
It didn't answer. Of course, Gerald had never thought it would.
"Your pals have been chewing their way through town. They got the Beachys last night. Not very neighborly of you."
The monster's wheezing increased. Its face drew into a half-smile, lips pulled back from teeth that chattered against each other.
Gerald took a step closer. "I bet you'd like to eat me, wouldn't you, you fucking gook bastard? You'd like nothing more than to have a Gerald Duphrene sandwich, isn't that true?"
The monster suddenly exploded into action, lunging for Gerald with arms outstretched.
Gerald backed away until his back hit the door. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from screaming.
The monster lunged again and again at him, as if it could break the chain around its foot. It extended its arms and clawed the air with its hands.
"Fucking gook bastard," Gerald mumbled. His heart was in his throat.
Then he noticed the jaws of the trap. During the commotion they'd slipped down the leg, scoring the monster's calf to the bone. The jaws now rested on the ankle, too low, it seemed, to be as effective as they had been. Had this been a man, he'd be screaming with pain, but the monster didn't seem to feel it at all.
Gerald wondered how much longer the trap would hold his pet monster.
The answer came right away.
The monster lunged again, this time peeling away the skin from the ankle to the tip of its toes as it freed itself from the jaws of the trap. Without the chain to hold it up, it fell, and in doing so, knocked Gerald to the ground.
Gerald kicked out with his feet.
The monster grabbed one, and used it to pull itself towards him.
Gerald kicked harder, catching the monster in the face several times until it let go. Then he turned to run, scrambling to his feet. A piercing pain in his leg made him scream. Had the thing bitten him?
Gerald leaped into the hall and ran into the bathroom. He slammed the door, pressed his back to it and howled his mantra, his eyes closed, prayers shooting like machine gun rounds into the heavens.
The monster beat on the door for a moment, then continued down the hall and out the door. Gerald counted to ten, then jerked the door open and ran after the monster.
What if it came into contact with someone else?
Gerald knew that he could not let that happen.
Veronica stood at the window, peering through the curtains. "I can't see anyone, but that doesn't mean that they aren't there."
Metzger sat on the couch, running his hand though his hair. "There are probably some men around back that we can't see. If I was setting up surveillance, I'd sure as hell have someone back there. Damn." He shook his head. "Sorry to have brought all this trouble here."
Natasha sat beside him. She wanted to put her arms around him, but was afraid of what he might do. In fact, she was more afraid that he'd let her, than that he'd reject her.
"I got it!" Derrick suddenly yelled. He held up his paper. "This is it. I know it."
Veronica turned. "You figured it out?" She grinned. "Look at the little genius."
"Who're you calling little?" Derrick strutted to the end of the coffee table and stood in front of the TV. He held up the sheaf of papers. "Look at this. We knew what the crib was before we even knew the crib existed. Grandpa had wanted us to find it out all along. Heck, it was in front of us all the time."
"So what is it?" Metzger asked.
"It's really too perfect." Derrick grinned. "Where were the zombies meant to work?"
"What?" Veronica didn't understand the question.
"You mean the project?" Natasha concentrated.
Derrick nodded quickly.
"Orbit?" Metzger guessed.
"Space," Veronica said. "The zombies were meant to work in space."
"Right. And what do we have in this town related to space?"
Natasha snapped her fingers. "The Space Station Restaurant."
"Booya! Kewpie doll for my sister. Space Station is twelve letters. That's the crib."
"How can you be so sure?" Metzger asked.
"Because I've already begun translating and it fits right in. Now to figure out the other letters and we'll have this completely translated."
"How hard will that be?"
"Not so hard. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Think of the crib as the outside edges. Once you have that, it's only a matter of time before you fill in the middle."
They spent the next several hours poring through the book. Now that they'd found the key to decoding the text, there was an avalanche of information regarding tides, the appearance of strange lights, earthquakes, missing people, and all sorts of events, all laid out with links to one another. Grandpa Lazlo had even tracked the comings and goings of trucks and the "mysterious dark buses" entering and leaving the "desalination plant," or what Natasha now thought of as the zombie factory.
The sheer amount of information was overwhelming. Taken separately it would appear to be the rantings of a crackpot. But as a whole, this information was undeniable. One couldn't ignore that the flashing green lights were always preceded by an earthquake, which always resulted in someone missing, a fire in one of the trailers, or increased activity at the zombie factory. The question was what to do with the book. Should they turn it over to the police? Everyone had an idea as to who was responsible, from Simon Cowell to Oprah Winfrey to CNN to the local police. But at this point they couldn't trust anyone. Who knew who else worked with Hopkins? Maude had already proven to be a traitor. Maybe even Gert. Perhaps she was even - as Natasha thought - in the zombie factory working in some office, doing whatever it is they do in zombie factory offices.
No one could really decide what to do. Derrick and Veronica fell asleep on the couch, Metzger in one of the easy chairs.
But Natasha was too riled up. She had something she needed to get off her chest.
She headed to the trailer next door and, without hesitation, knocked on the door.
Maude's pearl-blue eyes fluttered, then blinked. She stared at Natasha with an expression that seemed to be a mix of embarrassment and relief.
"You knew," Natasha said. "You knew all this time and never told anyone."
Maude fell heavily onto the couch in her living room, looking as though the words had beaten her down.
Natasha closed the door behind her. "How could you have known and not said something? For all we know, they killed my grandfather and Gertie. I thought they were your friends. I thought you loved them."
When Maude said nothing, Natasha closed her eyes and sighed. "Did grandpa know who you were, or did you keep it secret all this time?"
"So you talked to Andy."
"We talked to Andy."
Maude nodded. It took a while for her to say anything. She licked her lips several times and glanced around, looking as if she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
"I do love them. I love them more than you'll know. Laz and Gertie were my life. I would have stopped if I could have, but in the end I had no choice."
"You had no choice?" Natasha's eyes flashed. She was insulted by the remark. "Of course you had a choice. We've all been wracking our brains trying to figure out what's going on, and here you knew all along. I can't fucking believe it. How can you not feel like an accomplice?"
Natasha's question echoed in the silence that followed. When Maude finally answered, her voice was barely audible. "I am an accomplice. It's my fault people are dead. Had I told them in the beginning, they would still be alive. You're right on all counts. I am a terrible, terrible human being."
Natasha's rage, which had known no bounds, suddenly broke against Maude's guilt. She wasn't yet ready to quit, but her expression softened as she stared into the devastated face; for truly, if there was a woman who looked as if she'd lost everything, it was Maude.
"So why did you do it?" Natasha finally asked.
"Why did I do it?" Maude breathed more than said the words. She picked at the cuticles on her fingers, her gaze locked on the motion. "I never thought it would come to this. I mean, when I came here to work, everything was over, or at least it was supposed to be. Reagan came into office and cut the budget. We were all out of a job. Andy hung on because he couldn't bring himself to ever do anything else. He was always hoping the project would open back up. I hung on because they said they'd pay me to tell them if anyone came poking around and asking about the program. And I was thinking about Russians." She smiled weakly, then looked down once more. "But no one ever came around... no one at all. The more the years passed, the further I left it all behind me. I essentially forgot about it... That is, until..."
"Until people started to go missing," Natasha offered.
Maude nodded and repeated, "Until people started to go missing. Then I began to wonder, What if?"
"When did you know it was for real?" Natasha asked.
"When Hopkins came to town." Maude made a face like something had died in her mouth. "He only comes around to check on me the first Tuesday of every month. When I saw him the other day I knew there was going to be trouble."
"The zombies, you mean."
Maude flicked a smile, but it was gone almost before Natasha saw it. "Is that what you guys are calling them?"
"Sure. What else would we call them?"
"I don't know. It never really occurred to us to call them something back then."
Natasha nodded.
"It was really a terrific idea. Imagine creating a worker who didn't need to breathe or eat. A worker who could survive the radiation of space. Imagine what we could have accomplished had this worked."
"But it didn't."
"That was Reagan's fault, not ours. Kennedy approved the idea, Johnson funded the initial research, and it took a third rate actor to crush any hope of space travel for the next hundred years." Maude gripped the spoon in her hand until her fist shook. "Oh, I used to be wedded to this program so completely. I loved the job so damned much, and then one day, poof."
"You know that we only took terminally-ill prisoners when I was with the program? I never would have been a part of a program that took healthy people. I never would have allowed it."
But Natasha wouldn't let it be. "I suppose the thing to do is forgive you. It's pretty easy. It sure would make me feel better." She took a picture out of her back pocket and stared at it. It was a picture of her grandfather when he was a boy, all elbows and knees as he held aloft a fish for everyone to see, his ebullience projecting through the gap-toothed smile of a kid who never imagined he'd be a zombie's dinner. "But the dead can't forgive. They can't return to hear your excuses, no matter how good they are. So if my grandpa can't forgive you, I'll be damned if I'll do it for him."
Tears ran from Maude's eyes. She asked, "What are you going to do now?"
"Find my dad. It's about time I sobered him up and we got the hell out of here."
Natasha turned and stormed outside.
She marched to the restaurant and found it closed. Likewise, the Laundromat was empty. One could only hope Carrie had taken her children home.
The wind had picked up and was tossing her hair. The sky had gone from blue to gunmetal gray as the storm drew towards Bombay Beach.
Natasha turned around, glaring at the seawall, the trailers, the storefronts and the never-ending sand. She balled her fists to her sides and screamed in frustration.
"Daddy, where are you?!"
She shook with rage.
Then something moved far down the street towards the trailer which they'd been afraid to go int
o. A figure ran into the street. She couldn't make it out this far away, but whoever it was, it was moving fast and coming straight at her.
Fear supplanted her rage. What if it was one of those zombies? She looked around her as if the locked buildings would suddenly be unlocked and open. But to no avail.
When she looked back down the street the figure was halfway towards her, lurching more than running. Her heart leaped into her mouth.
Then a golf cart erupted from a side street, crashing into the side of the zombie, the collision rocking the cart and hurling the zombie into the seawall.
The driver swerved towards her. Behind her the zombie clambered unsteadily to its feet.
The cart was driven by the hook-handed man, Gerald. Barely slowing, he yelled for her to get in. Without any more urging, she ran beside it for a second and jumped aboard. She turned around and saw that the zombie was still coming.
"Hold on and lean left," he yelled.
Natasha grabbed the handle on the side of the seat and did as he said. They took the ninety-degree turn as fast as they dared; the cart ran on two wheels for a moment before slamming back to earth.
Then they sped away. When she finally looked back, the zombie had disappeared. They made two more turns before pulling into the driveway of an impeccably-manicured trailer on First Street.
When they pulled to a stop, Gerald took a moment to set the break and plug the battery into a cord that ran from a pole beside the trailer. Meanwhile, Natasha sat stock still in the seat.
"Why don't you come inside for some iced tea?" he offered, finally.
Gerald limped up his porch steps without looking back and entered his home.
Natasha waited a moment, undecided on what to do, then hurried inside and locked the door behind her.
"Don't know if that's necessary," Gerald said. "I haven't found one smart enough to turn a knob yet."
She flashed him a look and he nodded.
