by A. R. Wise
“I need some more of Ms. Dell’s, but I’ll also need some of yours too this time,” said William.
“Aw fuck.” Hero grimaced and stomped his foot like a petulant child trying to argue against a nap. “I fucking hate needles.”
“Oh no.” Beatrice mocked him. “I feel so bad for you.”
“Shut up, Bea.”
William went to a drawer to retrieve syringes and found it emptied. That was the drawer that Kim had stolen the syringes from earlier. William frowned and moved to another. “Aha,” he said as he took out two of the wrapped needles. “Here we go.”
He took Beatrice’s blood first and then carefully labeled the barrel. Next he took Hero’s sample as the tall black man grimaced and clenched his eyes shut.
“It’s over,” said William as he pulled the needle out. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“It’s not about the pain,” said Hero. “I just have a thing about needles. They creep me the fuck out.”
“They’re moving slow out there,” said Jeff through the intercom. He was keeping them up to date on what Jerald and his men were up to in the cabin above. “Jerald’s sitting on the couch. No kidding, I think he’s having one of his men make him a cup of coffee.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” said William. “Jerald’s always been one for theatrics. If he’s sitting down to have a drink of coffee, then I’d bet anything he thinks he’s already won.”
“He’s got a computer tablet of some sort,” said Jeff, his voice carrying through the speakers in the transfer facility. “He’s showing it to the camera up there. Hero, I think you should come up here.”
“Do you need me here?” asked Hero.
“No, but I need her.” William pointed to Beatrice.
“All right,” said Hero. “I guess you’ve got nowhere to go anyhow.” He unlocked the cuffs.
“Thank God,” said Beatrice as she stepped away. “You smell like a wet dog that a cat’s been pissing on.”
“What?” asked Hero, offended. He sniffed his armpits. “Oh sorry, you probably forgot what a man smells like.” He winked at her and left.
Beatrice huffed and then turned to William, who was smirking. “Don’t tell me you like that thug.”
“He’s not bad,” said William. “He grows on you.”
“Like a fungus,” said Beatrice. “How far are you from finishing with this?”
William looked exasperated. “Ideally? Days, weeks, months.” He rubbed his eyes and then looked through a microscope as he put a slide under the lens. “But what we’re doing here isn’t even science anymore, now is it? It’s just crap shooting and praying for luck.”
He replaced the first slide with another.
“There’s something wrong with my tablet,” said Beatrice as she fiddled with the computer. “When I check on the status of this facility, it’s showing that everything is running smoothly. I can even get into some of the camera feeds, and it’s showing me footage of scientists just going about their day like everything is normal.”
“Maybe Jerald figured out a way to replace the feed,” said William.
“But how?” asked Beatrice as if what William suggested was offensive. “That doesn’t make any sense. All of the tablets are locked out of the central database. We have been since what happened out here, two decades ago. I know he has a tablet of his own, but he couldn’t be manipulating the central database.”
“Well, apparently he is,” said William, nearly ignoring her as he worked.
“No, no,” said Beatrice as she looked at the tablet. “This can’t be. Someone is pretending to be me, communicating with the rest of The Electorate; telling them I made it here safe and will be going through the final transfer soon. I can’t communicate with anyone. It’s like my tablet has been locked out. William, this is insane. Somehow Jerald has figured out a way to trick the rest of The Electorate that everything here is business as usual. I bet he’s going to be inviting the others here for their final transfers, just like me, and then imprisoning them.”
“Let’s worry about one thing at a time,” said William.
“How can you…”
“Beatrice, please,” said William. “I need to concentrate here.”
Beatrice tried to be patient, but William’s slow pace was driving her crazy. She followed him back and forth between the microscope and a centrifuge where he had inserted blood samples. After a few minutes she blurted out, “What are you doing now?”
“Patience, Bea.”
“It’s Beatrice, thank you very much.”
“Oh right, sorry. I just got used to hearing Hero call you…”
“Yes, yes. What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to give the enzymes time to influence Hero’s sample. His blood isn’t having the proper response yet.”
“And what about yours?” asked Beatrice.
“Well, yes, it would seem mine is reacting properly. So I owe you a debt of gratitude for that, I assume. Even though you had planned on killing me along with the other scientists when the Noah Initiative took place.”
“It was nothing personal.”
“No, of course not,” said William. “Anyhow, it seems I’m immune to the virus now. Unfortunately, Hero’s sample is reacting the same way the others of African American descent did. We could stave off his disease, perhaps even for several months, but there’s no telling what sort of damage it would do to him. And I don’t feel comfortable letting him leave this facility without knowing he’s cured. We can’t risk that virus getting out.”
“Why not?” asked Beatrice.
William stopped and stared at her. He slid his hand over his balding head as he stuttered, “I guess we… we should, um. I guess we need to…”
“We don’t stand a chance against Jerald,” said Beatrice. “We both know that. If I’m not mistaken, when the antibodies get into Levon, they’ll mask his virus. Even if Jerald tests him for it, nothing will show up. We can show Jerald the bite on Levon’s leg, and then prove that he’s been cured. Only we’ll know the truth. I’ll destroy my tablet so there’s no way for him to find the cure. He’ll have to take Levon back to his base.” She had a wicked smirk as she raised her eyebrow. “Levon will be a ticking time bomb, and when he finally explodes then we’ll be the ones holding the upper hand again.”
William was blinking rapidly as he thought about Beatrice’s plan. “I don’t know. Couldn’t Jerald just torture us until we create a cure for him? Couldn’t he just give your recipe to his scientists?”
Beatrice shrugged and looked unconcerned. “First off, I doubt those meatheads have a scientist among them. And even if they do, it’ll take them quite a while to gather the enzymes they’ll need. Your facility had them because of the experiments, but there’s no reason his would. By the time he can get them, The Electorate will have sent people to rescue us. And as for the recipe, we’ll delete the file and tell him we’re the only ones that know the formula. Trust me, William, this is how we win.” She tapped her long fingernail to her temple. “I always play to win.”
William was quiet for a moment, but then shook his head. “No. No, I’m sorry, Beatrice, but I just can’t do it. I’m sorry. I know Hero seems like just a thug to you, and maybe he is, but I’m no murderer. I can’t be complicit in this. I can’t lie to his face. I can’t tell him that he’s going to be okay while I know that I’m sending him out there to exterminate countless more people. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“I understand, William,” said Beatrice as the old scientist walked past her. “There’s always plan b.”
“And what’s plan b?” asked William.
She didn’t answer.
He turned in time to see the flash of a blade in her hand.
Chapter Twenty-Five – Enemy Territory
Two years after the apocalypse
Billy is in his cell, feigning that his back injury is worse than it actually is.
“Just put me up against the wall,” said Billy, his che
eks wet with tears as he shivered on the concrete floor. “Please. My back is broken. My fucking back is broken! Please help me.”
“Christ’s sake,” said the soldier in the room. “You whiny little fuck, shut the hell up.”
Billy tried to pull himself to the wall, the course concrete floor scraping his nude body. He cried out in pain as his legs slid uselessly behind him. “Please just help me get to the wall and I’ll stop. I promise. Just please help me. It hurts so bad.”
“Fine.” The soldier was sick of listening to the boy cry. Billy was broken, shivering and pathetic, sobbing as he clawed at the floor, blood dripping from the wounds on his face that were starting to turn black as the bruises showed. The heap of sniveling flesh was far from a threat. “But you’d better shut the fuck up or I’m going to get some duct tape to slap over your mouth.”
“I promise I won’t bug you anymore,” said Billy as the soldier stood over him.
Dean knelt and lifted Billy to a seated position. Then he wrapped his arms around his chest and started to drag him backward.
Billy waited until he felt his back on the wall, and then attacked. He gripped the soldier’s shirt and pulled him down with his left hand as he swung with his right. Dean was surprised, but still able to move his head to the side. Billy’s fist struck the soldier’s cheek, but the brunt of the punch flew wildly.
“You mother fucker,” said Dean as he tried to pull away from Billy’s grip.
Billy stood up, despite how bad his back hurt. He put his hand on the back of Dean’s head and then started to bash his forehead into the soldier’s nose.
“Fucker!” Dean sputtered and pushed, but Billy’s vicious assault wasn’t meant to harm, it was meant to kill.
Billy wasn’t trying to subdue the soldier, and Dean was unprepared to defend himself against such an all-out assault. Billy’s hands slipped on Dean’s short haircut, slickened by sweat, grime, and blood. The soldier didn’t pass out, but he was dazed by Billy’s attack.
Billy didn’t stop. He lost count of how many times he slammed his forehead into the soldier’s face, but it was well over ten. He was dizzy, his eyes sparkling with white stars as an intense headache swelled in his head. Dean was still standing, but his face was a mess of dark red blood, his nose bent to the side and his bottom lip split as if he’d fallen face-first, five stories to a concrete sidewalk.
“Is my whining upsetting you now?” asked Billy. He saw the soldier’s hand wearily gripping the pistol at his side. Billy pushed the dazed man’s hand away from the hilt and took the gun out himself. He put the barrel to the soldier’s head as Dean started to cry.
“No,” said Dean as he wavered where he stood. It was like looking at a boxer after the tenth round of a vicious beating, wandering the ring in search of his corner after the bell had rung, all senses lost. He put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Billy put his left hand beside the barrel of the gun to protect himself from the splash of blood and brains as he pulled the trigger.
When Dean fell, Billy staggered back to the wall. He slumped to the ground with the pistol in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. His back was throbbing, as was his head, but none of the physical pain could outdo the sense of horror that seeped in as he stared at the carcass across the room.
Only a couple years earlier, Billy had been forced to choke a soldier to death. He recalled the moment when that boy’s eyes had burst crimson, bulging from his head as he tried to breathe. Billy remembered the sense of remorse, and the darkness that befell him when that soldier died. He felt none of it now, which was even worse.
Billy was nude, beaten, and dripping a mix of blood and sweat on the floor as he sat against the corner of the cell. He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been. If he had a soul, it felt like it chose this moment to drift away. He was every bit as much a monster as the zombies that roamed the world.
Billy looked at the camera that was set on a small table near the entrance of the room. It reminded him of the simple camera that he’d found on the hanging zombie in the mall two years ago, but this one had a screen on the front, under the lens. He’d heard Dean speaking to someone through the device a few moments earlier, a commander of some sort that had told the soldier to try and break Billy’s back.
“Are you there?” asked Billy as he stared at the camera. “Are you going to send me another victim?” He pointed the gun at the device and closed one eye as he aimed down the sight.
The screen on the device suddenly blipped to life. “Reagan?” asked Billy as he saw the old captain.
“Billy? Can you hear me now?” asked Reagan as he struggled to hold something. Billy squinted, unsure that he was seeing Reagan properly.
“Yeah,” said Billy. “Are you holding someone’s hand?”
Reagan lifted a limp black hand that had a silver bracelet on it. He waved the hand and smiled at the camera. “This asshole’s computer doesn’t work for anyone but him, so I beat him until he agreed to help.” He wiggled the limp hand again. “He’s being real helpful now.”
“Where are you?” asked Billy.
“I’m safe,” said Reagan. “I can get to a map of the facility on this dick’s computer. I can also access all of the security cameras. What am I talking to you through?”
“It’s some sort of little camera thing,” said Billy.
“Is it portable?”
“Yeah,” said Billy.
“Okay, good. Can you walk? I saw you beat the shit out of that soldier, so I know you’re not in too bad of shape.”
“I’ll manage,” said Billy.
“Take the camera with you, and I’ll lead you through the facility. You’ll have to save Hero first, and then come get me. Okay? Are you up to this?”
“No,” said Billy as he forced himself to stand. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
“First thing’s first,” said Reagan. “Take that soldier’s clothes and put them on. No one wants to see your naked ass running around.”
Billy turned so his butt faced the camera and then slapped both cheeks. “Soak up the full moon, old man.”
Reagan groaned, but Billy heard him chuckle as well.
* * *
August 24th, 20 years after the apocalypse
Hero is in the control room of the transfer facility.
Hero fell back against the wall, devastated.
“It’s kind of hard to see,” said Jerald as he held his computer tablet up to the camera. “But you sure can hear them, right?”
He rewound the recording back to where Laura started to scream out her daughter’s name.
“No, Kim! Give me your hand.” Laura was reaching down from the truck, past the looped razorwire.
Kim responded, but the microphone on the camera wasn’t able to pick up her voice over the roar of the horde.
“Sorry I don’t have a better shot of it,” said Jerald as he smiled. “Your friends shot out all my speakers and broke most of the cameras in the process. But this isn’t a bad view, is it? Oh, this is my favorite part.”
An explosion blanked the screen, leaving it white for a moment as the sound cut out. Hero could hear Jerald enjoying the spectacle as he held the computer near the camera while still watching it.
“You son of a bitch,” said Hero through his grief.
“Shush,” said Jerald. “You’re going to miss the best part. The audio picks back up in a second.”
The video and audio clicked back on as Laura screamed out, "Kim! No, no, please, no! Kim!"
Jerald paused the video and then shook his head and grinned, like a man overwhelmed with pride over his creation. “Can you hear that heartbreak? It’s really stunning. Isn’t it? I can almost hear her will being crushed.” He grit his teeth as if biting into his words as he grimaced at the camera.
“I’ll kill you,” said Hero, his voice all but lost as his throat clenched.
“What’s that?” asked Jerald as he cupped his hand to his ear and leaned c
loser to the camera. “It’s hard to hear you through this little speaker. Are you crying?”
Hero walked to the table and gripped the microphone that let him speak through the intercom in the cabin. “I’m going to murder you, mother fucker. If it’s the last God damned thing I do on this Earth, I’ll rip your head off for this.”
“Good, I look forward to it,” said Jerald. “Come on out of there and let’s get started. And make sure to bring that old bitch out with you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jeff. He’d been monitoring Jerald’s occupation of the cabin above them, and had called Hero into the control room to witness the video of Kim’s death.
Hero wiped his eyes and looked like he was going to say something, but then his expression turned from sorrow to fury. He turned and started to punch the flat screen television on the wall that was displaying pictures of the rain forest. His first punch broke the screen, sending splits streaking to each of the corners like bolts of lightning as the television sparked. He punched again, this time splitting his knuckles on the broken glass. Then he grabbed both sides of the set and ripped it off its mount. He threw the television across the room and it exploded against the wall. Then he screamed out and he clenched his fists, a tower of tensed muscle and hate. Blood dripped from his hands and Jeff backed away, frightened of what the man would destroy next.
“Sounds like I hit a nerve in there.” Jerald mocked Hero from the computer screen, smiling up at the camera. He winked and then looked back down at his tablet as he played the video of Kim’s death again. “Oh, and one more thing, make sure to let Beatrice know I have access to the main database.” He waved the tablet for them to see. “Make sure she knows I have the original version of these.” He winked. “I’ll let her explain why that matters.”
“Help!” The plea echoed through the nearly empty facility.
“Did you hear that?” asked Jeff.
“Help!” It was Beatrice.
“I’ll go,” said Hero as he headed out of the room. Jeff followed, but Hero stopped him at the door. “You keep an eye on that piece of shit. I’ll see what’s wrong with Bea.”
