The Last Town (Book 3): Waiting For The Dead

by Knight, Stephen

  “What do you want us to do, Reese?” Narvaez asked.

  “What do you mean,” Reese said, even though he very well knew the purpose of Narvaez’s question.

  Narvaez didn’t say anything, just looked at Reese and waited. Reese didn’t answer him. He moved past the Guard officer and started making his way back to where Bates stood. Narvaez followed him a short distance.

  “Reese, you’re the guy who’s supposed to tell us what to do here,” Narvaez said.

  Reese turned around, suddenly pissed off. “What do you want me to say, Narvaez? Kill them? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “I don’t want to do that,” Narvaez said. “It’s not what I signed up for. But we have to do something with them. We can’t leave them up here.”

  “I’ll tell the hospital staff,” Reese said.

  “What? Why? What good is that going to do?”

  Reese turned back to the Guardsman, almost slipping and sliding in the bloody gruel underfoot. “Because I don’t have any other guidance for you right now, Narvaez. That’s why.”

  “You need to get some, then,” Narvaez responded. “Seriously, man. Someone has to start making some really tough calls, because they’re not the only ones.” The National Guard officer pointed back in the direction of the mother and child they had just left. “It’s spreading, Reese. It’s spreading fast now.”

  SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA

  In the town council chamber, Max Booker sat with the others as they leafed through the thick binders left behind by Barry Corbett and his men. It was interesting stuff, to say the least. The plans Corbett had put together were extensive, and the materials lists were almost thirty pages long all by themselves. According to the presentation, everything had been collected and was waiting on trucks parked at various locations throughout the town. Booker knew that most of the trucks were at the airport, but others had been spotted in the parking lots of local businesses. Booker had no idea which semi-trailer contained what, but he had no doubt that “product placement” was by design, not happenstance. Judging by the plans Corbett had drawn up, nothing had been left to chance. There was little doubt on Booker’s part that the wily old fox had prepositioned everything in accordance to when and where it would be needed.

  And the diagrams themselves were works of either an inspired imagination, or a detail-oriented survivalist freak. Booker didn’t think Corbett was overly imaginative, so he automatically lumped him into the freak arena. He shook his head as he read the details. Plank steel walls twenty feet high, topped by concertina wire and surrounded on the outside by more coils of wire on the ground, called tanglefoot wire. Inside, another set of walls atop high dirt berms, from which battlements would be stationed. Trenches surrounding the outer perimeter that were ten feet deep and thirty feet wide. Inside the barriers, smaller, more modular defenses would be erected, so that incursions could be contained without the rest of the town being directly threatened. All manner of armaments were listed as well, including ammunition counts and types. Booker scanned the list, not because he was fascinated by weapons—far from it, he was never the type to be a card-carrying NRA fanatic, he was a politician—but to see just how far gone Corbett was. Seventy thousand three-inch shotgun shells with #3 buckshot. Two million rounds of M855 fifty-five grain in 5.56-millimeter. Two thousand LWRC International IC-Enhanced rifles. Two thousand Smith & Wesson M&P45 pistols. On and on it went, with more rifles, more ammunition, more instruments of violence. Booker was genuinely horrified.

  “Well, I see Mr. Corbett isn’t worried about violating any state gun laws, seeing as how he’s basically broken almost every one California has,” Chief Grady said, as if reading Booker’s mind.

  “I was just wondering that,” Booker said. “Are you going to arrest him?”

  Grady grunted and shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a very smart thing to do right now, Mayor.”

  “Arresting that mad man would be just the smart thing to do!” Hector Aguilar said. Booker sighed internally. Aguilar was always fuming about something, and as much as Booker disliked and distrusted Barry Corbett, Hector actually hated the man with a passion. Booker knew it was nothing more than childish jealousy—Corbett was the captain of a multinational corporation which generated billions of dollars of profit every quarter, whereas Aguilar’s pharmacy and the handful of rental properties he had in town didn’t come anywhere near that. Sure, Aguilar lived better than most of the locals, but he was miserly when it came to giving back to the community. Booker thought it was oddly funny that the extremely liberal Aguilar guarded his earnings almost viciously, whereas Corbett, the living stereotype of the conservative one percent complete with Gulfstream jet, was paying it forward.

  “Why don’t we finish this first, then decide,” Chief Grady said, a reasonable tone in his voice.

  “Please,” said Gemma Washington. Her small, wire-rimmed glasses were perched low on her nose, making her look like some matronly school marm.

  “Fine, let’s go through the rest of Corbett’s juvenile fantasy novel,” Aguilar said with a contemptuous sneer.

  It took them the better part of two hours just to get a firm understanding of the concepts that Corbett was proposing. Booker was amazed. The transition to the town would be epic and profound. Corbett actually believed that the outside world was, in essence, coming to an end. And he wanted the town to be ready for it when it happened. Booker pushed the binder away from him and leaned back in his chair, trying to decide how he felt about it all. A lot of what he had just read left him terrified, while other parts seemed comforting in their sensible and rational approach.

  Booker didn’t know what to think. Did he want Corbett to be wrong? Or did he want him to be right?

  The others were stirring now, finishing up their reading. Booker stood up and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Well, that was a lot to digest,” he said. “I think I’m calling for a bio break.”

  “I think I’m calling for a laughing break,” Aguilar said. “Clearly, Corbett is a raving lunatic.”

  Booker waved the comment away. “Yeah, we’ll get to that in a minute.” With that, he excused himself from the chamber and headed for the bathroom. Grady followed him, and Emma excused herself to the ladies room. When they returned to the chamber, Aguilar was still sitting in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his dark brows beetled in consternation as he watched them approach.

  “Well, I don’t think we have very much to talk about, do we?” he snapped.

  “Let’s try and keep our cool, Hector,” Booker said. “No matter what you think of Corbett, he is right about one thing. The world’s not a better place today than it was yesterday, and things are only getting worse.” He looked to Grady. “Why don’t you go first, Chief. Tell us what you know about things, before we get to what we have to discuss.”

  Grady settled into his chair and steepled his hands before him in that curious way of his. “Well, locally, we did have an occasion where someone turned into a zombie. And the people I talk to in the county law enforcement community have seen a lot more. There’s no cure, and even though the talking heads on the news say the virus is transferred by contact with an infected, that’s probably not the case. Like Corbett said, the government is putting that out there to try and head off panic.”

  “Should we be panicking?” Gemma asked.

  Grady swallowed before answering. “I shot an old man who turned into a zombie today, after he tore the throat out of one man and was trying to take a chunk out of one of my officers,” he said. “I’ve never had to shoot anyone before, and that alone makes me uncomfortable. But to your question, Gemma—the truth? Can’t answer for anyone else, but I know I’m panicking a little bit.”

  Aguilar sighed heavily and rolled his eyes behind his thick glasses. “Oh really, Chief.”

  Grady spun his chair toward him. “Seen the news, Hector? You see what’s going on in New York earlier today? I mean, now the news is fixed on LA, and that city is s
tarting to go under. If mega cities like New York and Los Angeles can’t handle this event, how can we hope to do any better?”

  “Do you mean that Corbett’s, ah, plans aren’t going to make a difference?” Booker asked.

  Grady shook his head. “Not what I meant. I mean that with our current resources, we don’t have much capability to keep people safe here in Single Tree.”

  Booker put his hand on the binder before him. “What’s your opinion on this, Chief? As a law enforcement official?”

  “I think it’s audacious and not really very far from crazy. But it’s the only chance we have, if things start to fall apart. Like they did back east, and like they’re starting to here in the west.” Grady opened the copy of Corbett’s presentation and leafed through a few pages. “I mean, listen, the guy’s thought of almost everything. Construction equipment and supplies. Security. Power. Food and water. Disaster planning. Medical concerns. Pretty much everything it would take to keep two thousand people alive for a year or more without outside help. You can’t tell me the guy isn’t anything but thorough, and he put a hell of a lot of thought into this.”

  Aguilar snickered. “You know how he came about all this, right?”

  Booker shook his head. “How?”

  Aguilar looked at him, a haughty smirk on his face. “Corbett thought for sure that the Russians were going to start World War Three. Back in the day, when he came home like a simpering little girl from Vietnam, it was all he could talk about. The Russkies were going to blow us all to hell, he’d say. I’ll bet he had these plans drawn up thirty years ago, and just saved them for a rainy day. Even back then, the egotistical maniac thought he was going to be our eventual savior.” Aguilar made a bowing motion. “All hail King Barry Corbett, the divine and benevolent.”

  “Norton seemed to think he was right, and he apparently saw what’s going on in Los Angeles with his own eyes,” Gemma said. “Does that make you stop and think for a second, Hector?”

  “Los Angeles?” Aguilar chuckled. “Los Angeles is a loony bin, Gemma. That city’s been living on borrowed time for years. Who cares what’s going on over there? Besides which, Gary Norton is a movie producer. The only thing he’s had to think about for years is wiping down his couch between casting calls with seventeen year old Italian models.”

  Grady sighed loudly and rubbed his eyes. “Hector, I’m sorry, but you’re a raging asshole.”

  Aguilar’s face turned dark. “You—”

  Booker held up his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s stop with the personal attacks! We have to start considering everything we’ve been told and reach a decision. Whatever we think of Corbett, he’s provided us with a lot of information and a plan that he’s ready to implement. We have, as I see it, two things to consider.” Booker held up a finger. “One: is Corbett right about what’s happening in the outside world? According to what we see on the news, and what the Chief here has added, it seems he is as right as he could be, under the circumstances.” He held up a second finger. “And two: do we allow him to proceed with his plan? These are the only two things we should be discussing, in my mind. Everything else is superfluous.”

  “I don’t know about item one, but item two—can we even do what Corbett wants?” Gemma asked. “I mean, legally. Can we? We don’t own the town, we don’t control access to it, and we don’t maintain any of the resources that come through it. Inyo County does, and where they don’t, the city of Los Angeles and the state of California do.”

  “That’s just it, Gemma,” Grady said. “Inyo’s going down for the count. LA is probably already on the mat. I know the governor has called up the National Guard, but no one has reached out to my office about any assistance being developed for Single Tree. And truthfully, if we wait for too long, we might find ourselves …” The police chief struggled for words, then gave in with a shrug. “Well, look, I just want you all to know that we’ll do our best, but Single Tree’s police force isn’t going to be much use against a legion of zombies.”

  Aguilar rolled his eyes. “I can tell you that at least one of your officers isn’t much use against thieving Indian boys.”

  Grady sighed but didn’t otherwise respond to the comment.

  Gemma looked at Booker. “Max. What do you think we should do?”

  When Grady and Aguilar turned toward him, Booker felt the weight come crashing down on his shoulders. Of course, at the end, it would be up to him. He was the one charged with charting the town’s course, though he’d never once imagined he’d be making life or death decisions.

  The lights flickered then, and everyone looked up. They flickered again, then stayed on. Booker didn’t know the cause, but he considered it a portent of bad tidings to come. He flipped through the binder before him, glancing at the elaborate plans for defending Single Tree from a million walking corpses. It was crazy. It was ludicrous. It was nothing short of completely, irrevocably insane.

  But it had to happen.

  “Let’s go with it,” Booker said with a heavy sigh. “I’m no fan of Barry Corbett’s, but I think he’s right about this, this zombie apocalypse thing, and if we can prep the town, we’ll all be the better for it.”

  Aguilar sneered. “Simply ridiculous,” he said. “I vote against. Let the proper authorities handle this, at the state level, since we apparently can’t manage things on our own.” This last was delivered with a withering glare directed at Chief Grady.

  Grady faced Aguilar emotionlessly. “Well, if that’s how you feel, Hector … I second Max in this.”

  “Count me in,” Gemma said. “We all know what’s going on in the world, and pretending it isn’t going to affect us is just stupid.”

  “I want to go on record as opposing this action, and I also want you to know that I’ll be contacting Inyo County authorities to report it,” Aguilar said. “This will be a disaster for the town. You all do realize that maniac is talking about actually blocking a state road to prevent outsiders from passing through Single Tree?”

  “Actually, that’s only one of the plans,” Grady said. “Flip to the diagram on page one-eighteen. There’s an alternate plan there to wall off Main Street, and build overpasses to connect the separated parts of the town. I would actually go with that one, though it still means we’d have to tear up a state-funded street while it’s in operation.”

  Aguilar laughed bitterly. “With all the traffic that’s on it? All that will happen is that we’ll delay thousands of people from getting to wherever they need to go!” He looked at Booker. “Imagine the legal actions that’ll come out of that. All the indemnity claims. Can Single Tree afford this, Max?”

  “Can Single Tree afford to not do it, Hector?” Booker shot back. “You’ve already made your disagreement known. Go ahead, go cry to the state and county and try to get an injunction filed. In the meantime, we have three ayes to one nay.”

  “This is preposterous,” Aguilar snapped.

  “No, this is democracy,” Booker responded. “We’re here in part to keep Single Tree safe, and we need to start work on that.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Meeting adjourned. I’ll tell Corbett our decision.”

  ###

  The Maserati’s check engine light had been on for almost an hour as Jock Sinclair nursed the vehicle through the night, trapped in thick traffic that seemed present everywhere he turned. Meredith sat in the seat beside him, as silent as a statue. Sinclair had no idea if she was still pissed with him after their argument hours earlier—to be truthful, he couldn’t give a damn, the only difference between her and the rest of the cunts he’d used was that she was an heiress to a fortune that he fully intended to benefit from. He’d smooth it out with her later. He always did. Despite her education and earlier accomplishments in the modeling world, Meredith was one of those women who needed a strong man to give her a direction in life. Even when he managed to piss her off, he was always able to bring her back to his side. Sinclair allowed himself the opportunity to smile smugly at his reflection in the rea
rview mirror. Women like Meredith were like sheep before a wolf, and Sinclair had always been able to smell them out.

  But now, the Ghibli’s check engine light was on, and it wouldn’t go out. And truth be told, the engine was starting to become sluggish, laggardly. The Italian sports sedan was having trouble accelerating, even in traffic that moved no more than twenty-five miles per hour up Route 395. Ridgecrest was three hours behind them, and that was where they’d picked up a lot of the traffic, and Sinclair had been chafing ever since rolling past the blue-collar desert town. The Maserati had been surrounded by pickup trucks, big rigs, minivans, and the usual assortment of vehicles normally favored by the lower middle class, and most of those red-necked bozos couldn’t drive to save their lives. Sinclair weaved in and out of traffic where he could, but it was rare for him to get past a top speed of thirty-five miles per hour.

  And then, the Ghibli’s check engine light came on.

  Italian piece of shit, Sinclair raged impotently. If only we had an Aston! Or even a Range Rover!

  Ahead, a town loomed, emerging from the scrub and desert that surrounded the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Sinclair glanced at a road sign as soon as it came in view.

  SINGLE TREE SAYS HOWDY!

  “Oh, dear God,” he said aloud. “Howdy? Surely California is more civilized than that, or have we somehow crossed into Neanderthal Texas?”

  Meredith made a satisfied hmph noise in the back of her throat, but offered nothing more.

  A glance at the GPS showed that, indeed, the town of Single Tree, California, lay ahead somewhere in the darkness. All Sinclair saw out the windows at the moment was a trailer park. People sat on the side of the road in lawn chairs, watching the traffic snake past. He clucked his tongue. Such plebeian activity, as if the fools had never seen traffic before. He noticed several people held signs. Water, $1.00. Tamales $2.50. Fresh fruit, vegetables. He also saw several motorists had pulled out of the line of traffic to take advantage of these offerings, and Sinclair clucked his tongue again and shook his head. The world was full of idiots, always willing the buy someone’s rusty tap water for a dollar.