“I apologize again. I’m not familiar with military protocol. I know that without some form of command, we stand a zero chance of survival.”
“Speaking of survival, Captain Walker has informed me that you wanted to do some demographic research, something to do with the chances of having a maintainable population, something about a genetic bottleneck?”
“Yes, I was surprised at the low number of survivors, I just expected a lot more. I …”
“I want you to put this research on hold. John. No good can come out of this. You and I know that the results will more than likely not be positive, and the last thing we need is to bring the seed of doubt to this mission. We have been at sea for two months, and like you, have lost everything. The fleet knows this, but most of them just don’t realize it yet.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t know if I truly realize my loss. Admiral, let me know what I can do, what I should do.”
“John, in private, you can call me Chris. Your Long Island strategy has merit and has been previously discussed. The Cape and Block Island are just training missions, feasibility studies for the big mission. You are correct when you mention the need to focus, and the need for hope.”
“Well, hope springs eternal.”
“What?”
“It’s Alexander Pope, sir, from the eighteenth century. ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast. Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come’. You know, I never really understood exactly what the hell he was trying to say. Maybe now, I think I do.”
We moved two chairs from the table and sat across from each other. “John, there are a couple of other things I want you to do. First, I want you to be quiet about your involvement with the Long Island plan with Robert and the crew, even if we do not implement it. I want anything that we do to be seen as something the military conceived. Yet another brilliant, innovated, fool proof plan. I can’t have the crew thinking we have been sitting here with our heads up our asses until some civilian comes along with a bunch of bright ideas.”
“No problem, Chris.”
“Second, and this will put you back in familiar territory, I want you to put together a short, let’s say two hour review of what zombies are: biology, tactics, virology, sociology, and any other ‘ology’ you can think of. Dr. Patrick, you are going to be my zombie expert and I am sending you on a lecture tour of the North Fleet. Give what you gave us and as much more as possible, A through Z. These boys are the ones who are going to be fighting them. Don’t worry, because you’ll have plenty of assistance.”
“No problem.”
“Dinner’s in a couple of hours. Would you care to join me?”
“Thanks, that would be great.” Well, I guess this means I have a title. Now I’m a consultant, or something.
“I’ll send someone by. Do you know the way back?”
“In a roundabout sort of, no, not really.” He laughed.
“I’ll find you an escort.” Damn! The witty comeback was there right on the tip of my tongue, but he’s an Admiral! This was the major leagues and I had to play by their rules, so I just stood, shook his hand, and told him I looked forward to dinner.
Robert was waiting for me in my new suite.
“So, Dr. Patrick, how did it go?”
“Well, I think I can safely say that I may have exceeded expectations and assured anyone with even a modicum of lingering doubt that I have mental issues.” I stretched out on the bunk.
“And you needed several hours to do this? How were you communicating, in Braille?”
“It is comforting to know that I will always have the succor of your warm bosom in times of need.” We both laughed, he sat on the bed and left the door open so it wouldn’t feel as claustrophobic as it actually was.
“Like you guessed, Robert, it’s a land grab. Makes sense. You have to feed a crap load of people, you can raid all you want, but you are going to run out and the power all these ships must require is a phenomenal amount of energy. Of course, some are nuclear, but the rest.” I shrugged.
“Well, you also have to take into account that just within the North Fleet, you are talking a hell of a lot of people who have watched the world die, all the while being cooped up on these vessels. At least, you and I had an outlet, of sorts.” I knew he didn’t mean it that way, but it stung.
“John, they need to do something. Long Island? Cape Cod?”
“Both. You ever see a nuclear explosion?”
“No.”
“Me neither, should be interesting, I hope they brought lots of ammo. Oh, this stuff is secret and I’m not supposed to tell you.” Do I smell Dewers?
“So we’re going with the bomb. Well, if done right, it’s quick, efficient, and let’s everyone know you aren’t fucking around.”
We spent the next couple of hours or so talking shit. We yakked about everything under the sun except the one thing we both wanted to talk about. The Providence was now on its way to the Vineyard, and Robert would be soon to follow. He knew where I was going.
“We may make it to the islands, after all. You never know. We’re civilians so we can stay out of this mess. We did our part.” He leaned close and in his best fatherly voice, almost whispering, “John, the dance has ended.”
“It’s okay, Robert. I don’t make this decision lightly. You have many skills the world will need in the long run, since you’re an engineer. Me, I have some insight that might be needed in the short term.”
“So what? Now you’re a Zombie Fighter? Okay, badass professor, are you going to offer your services to the highest bidder?” He was starting to get pissed.
“Robert, if you had a time machine that would send you to only one place and time, pre-dawn, Tuesday June 6th 1944, you are a member of the 2nd Ranger battalion, in a landing craft heading for Pointe du Hoc and you have three days to choose, would you go? Even though you know your chances are dubious at best?”
“How old?”
“22?”
“Yes, I would. You do know zombies are not Nazis?”
“I don’t see much of a difference. Robert, I have to see what’s going on!” I knew what he was getting at, so I might as well break the ice.
“The pain won’t go away. It will become something inside me, might plug the spot in my soul that I lost in that field.” Okay done, on to another topic. “Besides, it’s gonna be one hell of a show.”
I didn’t want to reminisce, but I really wanted to move on. “It would have been fun to have made it to the islands; the ladies in bikinis, boat drinks, and hunting whales with Hammer and machine guns.”
“No, a rocket launcher.”
“Yes! A fucking rocket launcher!” I started to laugh so hard that for a second time in less than a month, I pissed my pants, but fortunately just a little. I didn’t see the guy standing at the door till my eyes started to clear up.
“Dinner time! You want to come?”
“No. Did you know we’re some kind of celebrities?”
“Why are we celebrities?”
“We’ll talk when you come back.”
“Oh, that old video thing?”
“Fuck you, John.”
I was freaked out about the prospect of losing Robert, but fortunately, dinner was more laid back than anticipated. Everyone was in their everyday uniforms and the atmosphere relaxed. There were half a dozen of us. I was the only non-navy, non-officer in an itchy jumpsuit. Dinner was real salad on real china, water with ice and a lemon wedge, some kind of mouth watering Asian pork dish with rice, an iced lemon thingy and real coffee. While we ate, the conversation centered on logistics, but in a casual broad sense. Several of the other guys at the table were obviously captains or something, and spent most of the time talking about the food supply. I enjoyed the meal and listened. The general gist was that the fleet goes through a whole crap load of food every day, well no shit, Sherlock! No one talked about fuel.
After dinner, someone as
ked me if my first kill was hard.
“I suppose it shouldn’t be, but for me it was easy. It was an old woman in a nightgown. I had a shotgun and was protected, and there was no way she could get to me. It took me two shots.” Has anyone in this room killed a zombie?
“Since then?” This question came from the guy I was sitting next to who looked an awful lot like Jack Nicolson from A Few Good Men. He had the whole stern-motif thing going. He didn’t talk much during dinner, I never saw him smile, and had the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Maybe there is this section of the military that is naturally disposed to dislike me.
“Well, since then, it has been a question of survival. I don’t think, just act, and so far, it has worked.”
Maybe it was the sound of my voice or the party really was breaking up, but within ten minutes, I was back at my room and in bed.
June 13 - 14th
I spent the next two days, with the help of a couple of IT guys, putting together a ninety-minute presentation on everything I knew about zombies. It took my mind off the here and now. I kind of got into it; peppered the talk with clips and stills from American, British, and Italian films, try to separate zombie fiction from the zombie reality. I thought of a couple amusing anecdotes, mostly made up, and tales from my past, also made up. By the end, I was excited. I had something to do and of course it doesn’t hurt the ego to be back in professor mode! It took two days to get the damn thing ready because IT was adamant I use some of the Bangor video in the talk. I was just as stubborn and said no. They thought it was too obviously relevant not to use and I thought it was way too personal to use. It was funny because they thought I was interfering with their project. The resolution eventually came all the way from the top. Attendees would watch the video as part of preparation for the lecture. Fine by me.
I did get one of the most thorough physical exams I have ever had, and never want to do it again. I should be happy, I now weighed one-seventy one! It also gave me a chance to see the optometrist and score new glasses.
Robert was mostly off doing something, but I have no clue what, but I think bowling and beer was somehow tied in. I got to know the ship a whole lot better and continued to be astonished. It was so damn huge and complex, but really well thought out. You initially think, ‘Okay, it’s big’ and then you start to wander around and begin to realize what BIG really means. It would suck to fight zombies in a place like this. Strange to think that after the ISS, this might very well be the high water mark in human technology for a long time to come, which stinks, because I really wanted a flying car.
Dinner with Robert the first night was nothing short of bizarre. As soon as we sat down, people started coming over to ask questions, take pictures from their phones and for the first time in my life, someone actually asked for my autograph! It was as if what they saw wasn’t real and we were actors.
Dinner the second night was with the admiral. Robert went off with Marine friends to watch Guadalcanal Diary and The Sands of Iwo Jima. I had nothing new to report but I brought my laptop along and got ready to premier my ‘why zombies are not your friends’ extravaganza. As hoped, it was an intimate affair; only the admiral, another admiral, and three women, who were not in uniform. Introductions went around. I have no clue what the second admiral did, but it seems all three ladies had some affiliation with the CDC or the NIH.
“Admiral Spencer, I don’t mean to buck protocol but there are two admirals and four doctors, sorry, two real doctors and two PhD doctors.” I looked at Robin, at least I think her first name was Robin, and she shook her head yes. “So, I’m going to go with first names and if I forget yours, I’ll just nod in your general direction.” Man was I glad my wardrobe had been upgraded into some rugged yet sophisticated khaki look.
“Thanks, John, you never do aim to disappoint.”
With that, we drifted into various conversations, ate, and enjoyed a nice normal dinner like we had all met in a book club and Chris invited us over to his house for supper. It turns out that Robin was the other ‘didn’t go to medical school’ doctor, a term we both despised. She was about my age with short brown hair, athletic, and had a huge platinum diamond ring on her left hand. She was a forensic entomologist, really into insects and things decomposing.
“So, Robin, how come the bugs aren’t batting for our team?”
“Nice segue, John. I think you brought it up two days ago. They are alive. I thought with the hot weather the last few weeks, we would see some blow, and flesh fly activity, lots of maggots and fly larva on those with severe trauma nope. Field reports are steady around six percent.”
“What about the really little bugs, biotic decomposition?” She was at the meeting? There is no way I could have missed her.
“Some wound samples show slight activity, but beyond that, they have a functioning immune system. We still don’t know exactly what we mean by that. The only significant abiotic contribution would be with those who were physically or physiologically restrained, like some of the ones you shot. They do attract insect activity, but end up dehydrating out in a few days, depending on the situation.”
“What are you seeing dehydration wise in the general population?”
“We have some isolated populations in good shape, without water, and limited food. It can take over four weeks but a lot in our study are still with us. You saw it yourself. They are not mindless and they have a strong drive to survive. Oh, and you need to modify your presentation a bit. You are right, there are unusual coagulation factors going on, but with a significant, read massive, fibrin reaction. These suckers clot like nobody’s business. Don’t worry, I do look forward to dessert and seeing it all live.” She gave me a good-natured chuckle.
I wasn’t really surprised. The presentation went well and lots of good questions meant I would be up late tonight.
June 15th
My fourth full day on the Truman and I was off on my tour. I was scheduled for three lectures a day for the next four days, then off to other ships. The first one is always the worst. You think of everything that can possibly go wrong, but last night had me confident this would be a walk in the park. The room sat around a hundred and fifty and was packed with what looked to be mostly officer types, men and women, but mostly men. Wait a minute, it’s only men. So I was introduced and the show began. I rambled on, showed some videos, talked physiology, reviewed my tactics and presented my WAGS as to why they act the way they do. I answered a bunch of questions, nothing I hadn’t been asked before, so this was going to be a breeze. For the rest of the day, it was, although something was definitely going on, no more women.
After dinner, I went back to my room, made some notes, played with the presentation, finished Solzhenitsyn and started on Mason and Dixson. Robert was off playing video games.
June 16th
The next day after my second lecture, Roland, the big Marine from the cafeteria, came down to say hi.
“Good job, Professor.” We shook hands. “You kept it nice and simple.”
“Thanks, Roland. So you and your guys ready to kick some zombie butt?” I liked Roland. He gave off this natural calm vibe and reminded me of Robert.
“I hope so. Your talk didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.” We both sat down in some chairs near the podium.
“Up until a month ago, I was a middle aged, rapidly thickening professor, thinking I finally had life by the balls. I am not a warrior, just a very, very lucky SOB.”
“Luck? Warrior? One is just goddamn chance and the other…well there ain’t no warriors on this boat. These kids don’t know shit. I think what’s holding most of us together is the chance for payback. To do something! At least blow up some shit.”
I have been so wrapped up in myself that I thought these guys were living the life of Reilly sitting safe in the middle of the ocean while I had to deal with the shit. At least I had something to do; my mind was constantly occupied and by seeing everything first hand, I knew everyone I loved was gone. I needed to keep remin
ding myself that this went down differently for everyone, and in a sense, I was one of the lucky ones.
“What’s the buzz? When are we going?” He didn’t really know me, so I expected the usual ‘when the orders come down’ or something like that. Instead, what he said floored me.
“I expect within the week. Lots of meetings, I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep. Don’t worry, man. I’ll keep you up to date.”
“Within the week? That soon?”
“Yeah. They started a series of noisemakers a few days ago. They have cameras and sensors and are monitored, so when the bus is full, they shut it off and start the next one in the relay, wait a while and turn it back on. Keep everyone heading south.”
“Will it work?”
“Oh, it will work, it’s an island, but at what price? It’s alright, because we need to get active. Lots of guys excited about going home. Home, I’ll never go home.”
“Where’s home, Roland?”
“Seattle.” You’re goddamn right, you ain’t ever going home, you and me both. I let a couple of seconds go by.
“I still want to go. I would like to see how they respond. Sciency stuff.”
“Sciency? Fuck you, John. B.A. Psychology, third generation Fisk University.”
“Why aren’t you…”
“Long story. I will see what I can do.” We drifted off to some small talk about possible zombie psychology and whoa, Roland got it. I was relieved to see he wasn’t one of the Rambo types. He knew this was not going to be easy.
“So professor, what’s with this herd mentality? Is it like some kind of migration like you see in Africa?”
“I don’t think it’s a herd instinct, more akin to flocking birds. Boy, they know when there’s a party…might be something in the way they vocalize when excited. I heard a swarm back in Maine that had to be three-quarters of a mile away. Every zombie I have seen does this roar shit every time they get motivated. I need to see this, Roland.” Motivated? What the hell did I mean by that?
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 26
