by Chris Lowry
Jacob didn’t seem so sure.
He stared at the soldiers with a mixture of shock and awe, as if they were ghosts.
“I’m Jacob Williams,” he said. “I’m in charge of this cluster.”
Bear pointed at the metal doors that were being wedged shut.
“Your gate design is wrong. They should push out, not open in. If you reverse the hinges, the weight of the Z pressing on the doors will keep them sealed shut. Right now, it’s just a matter of leverage before they get through.”
Jacob looked past him to the gates.
They were holding, for now.
But he could see a thin line between the two plates and even as he watched it slipped a fraction wider.
“Let’s get some girders against it,” he called to some of the people around him.
No one moved.
They stared at the soldiers, looks of relief on their faces.
The government was here, they were armed.
The wait was over. They were going to be saved.
Sharp could hear their murmurs, feel their stares.
He twirled his finger in the air and rounded his squad up on him.
“Stay close,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “When they find out we’re only here for her,”
He let it stand.
The men knew how desperate a crowd could get, and if the mob mentality took over, it might call for killing civilians.
They wanted to avoid that if they could.
“Ma’am,” Sharp nodded to Pam. “Let’s get inside and talk.”
“I’m afraid we can’t go inside yet, Captain. Jacob has a problem and he needs to resolve it, or that group might try to open the gate again.”
She turned to Jacob with an expectant look on her face.
He nodded and bowed his head.
“People,” he said in a deep voice. “You saw what happened to Mike. You saw how these men responded. It was only with their help that we were saved. You can’t continue this course of co-existence. The things out there will kill you, kill us. Do you want to be responsible for all of our deaths?”
“Mike was right!” screamed a woman. “My husband is still out there. He’s sick.”
“We just need to learn how to communicate with them,” someone else shouted.
“Dead lovers!” shouted a man behind Jacob.
Others took up his scream, and then nothing could be understood as each side tried to make their point with threats, noise and chaos.
Jacob raised his hands for quiet. They ignored him.
Even when Pam moved beside him, they ignored her.
A couple of the flower power group moved on the gate, intent on opening it again, or maybe just blocking it with their bodies and hosting a peaceful protest under the moans and groans that leaked through the opening.
Sharp raised his rifle and fired off two rounds.
A few people screamed. Others ducked.
Some of the smarter ones ran for their houses.
But the rest shut up and stared at him.
“Keep this area clear,” he instructed Bear. “No one touches that gate.”
The giant soldier nodded and planted himself in the middle of the road.
It might have been his immense size.
Or the weapon he held at the ready.
But everyone backed up and backed off.
Sharp turned to Pam.
“We’re talking. Now. Bring him.”
14
Ballantine looked up from his desk as his assistant led a handsome young man into his office.
He liked this moment almost more than any other.
The look on their face when they saw the vast amount of space that dwarfed his giant desk, all of it just for him.
Space was a premium, and in some areas, a currency, and here it all belonged to him.
That was a show of true power.
He was not disappointed.
The young man shuffle stepped, almost off balance, but he recovered and marched as if he never lost confidence.
There was no place to sit so he stood in front of Ballantine and waited.
“Mr. Ballantine,” her soft voice broke the silence as the two men stared at each other across the expanse of his desk. “This is my brother, Mickey. I think he can help you get what you want.”
She backed away, introductions complete.
Mickey winked at her before she shut the door.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said.
“I imagine you have. Whereas I have heard nothing about you.”
“That’s just the way I like it.”
Ballantine detected a low trace of the Irish in his voice. Mickey and his sister must be one, maybe two generations removed from immigrants he thought. She’s younger, so more time in American schools would have erased most of her accent.
He spent a moment trying to recall if she held a lilt on certain words, then shook it off.
The tangent was unimportant.
What was important was the business of getting down to business. He didn’t bother with the niceties of offering a drink.
“I have a business proposition for you.”
“I’m here aren’t I?”
Cocky, Ballantine mused. Probably served him well with the types of people he dealt with on a day to day basis.
He had been accused of arrogance many times in the past, and he supposed those people were not wrong.
The difference was he had the power to back it up.
He wondered if this young man did as well.
“I’m told you are a man who can procure things.”
“Why don’t we dispense with the foreplay Mr. Ballantine.”
“Excellent. You can get things.”
“Things. Many of the things we have left.”
“And people?”
“A little harder, but it can be done.”
“I want you to get me an army of mercenaries to go fetch my daughter.”
“Kidnapping? We ain’t into kidnapping.”
“This isn’t a kidnapping,” Ballantine explained. “It’s a rescue.”
“Where is she? Are you having a little trouble with the San Francisco Council.”
“I don’t have trouble with the Council.”
The way he said it almost made the gangster shiver. He’d been in the presence of men like this before.
They were usually the boss and with good reason.
The last man that looked at him like that beat three other men in the room to death with a baseball bat during a lunch meeting.
It had been a scene in his favorite movie about Al Capone, until he saw it happen live.
Now he couldn’t even watch baseball on television.
Or couldn’t watch baseball on television until the Z attacked.
If he had the chance at anything other than DVD movies and public service announcements, he’d watch baseball for hours.
“Sir,” he said to indicate his respect. “What service can I provide.”
The blaze in Ballantine’s eyes receded to a dull roar and the palpable tension in the room relaxed a notch.
Mickey felt like he had just avoided the jaws of a great predator and suppressed a shudder again.
“Your sister has led me to believe you are in the black market.”
Normally he would mince words and try to dance around the truth, but if that look came back in the man’s eyes, he wasn’t sure if he would make it from the building alive.
So, Mickey did something he that would have surprised the men he worked with.
He told the simple truth.
“I am the black market,” he confessed. “Or a part of it.”
“Which part.”
“Drugs. Women. Weapons.”
“Women?”
“There are plenty of men willing to trade for companionship, and a lot of women who don’t enjoy going hungry, Sir.”
“The Council provides food,” Ballantine argued.
�
��Yes,” Mickey nodded. “They give out some food. Sometimes it even makes it to the right hands.”
The blaze flickered up again.
Mickey wondered what he had said wrong and glanced at the window.
“Someone is stealing from me?”
The gangster gulped. He wasn’t going to turn on his compatriots, because if word got out that he had, a twenty second trip to the concrete below would be a welcome relief compared to what would be done to him.
He kept his face passive, neutral.
Ballantine wrestled for control and took a deep breath.
“We will discuss that for another time.”
Mickey watched his white knuckles pop out as he gripped the edge of the desk.
“You said weapons. Do you have men who can use them?”
Mickey nodded.
“I want a group of them to go get my daughter.”
Mickey nodded again.
“Time and place. I’ll do this service for you.”
“Of course, you will,” Ballantine grimaced a smile. “It’s cute you thought you had a choice.”
“When. Where.”
It was all he could trust his voice to say without showing too much fear.
“Kansas. I’ll draw you a map.”
Then he did show fear.
“That’s over the wall,” Mickey stammered.
“That’s right.”
“No one goes beyond anymore. It’s not done. How did she get in Kansas?”
Ballantine eased back in his seat.
“She was flying from New York and the plane landed. Not a crash, but a landing. She radioed me for help.”
“The military,” Mickey licked his lips.
“Tried. Failed. They jumped in on parachutes and we lost their signal.”
Mickey glanced at the window again.
He wondered if it would hurt when the glass shattered, or if the pane was stronger up here.
Would he bounce back and then have to be tossed again?
“If they can’t help her,” he stuttered.
“She’s not dead!”
Ballantine’s fist slammed against the desk.
Mickey almost fell over backwards.
“Mr. Ballantine,” he said. “This is too much.”
“No. It’s just enough. You said you have weapons. Get more. You said you have men. Get more. I can’t get you a plane, so you need transportation. I’ll get you through the wall, you go get her and bring her back.”
“Drive?”
“Unless you have another idea?”
Christ almighty the man was mad.
He wanted Mickey to take a group of men across the country in a truck through a zombie filled wasteland to save one girl.
“It can’t be done.”
“Mr. O’Rourke,” Ballantine leaned up again.
His piercing blue eyes locked Mickey to his seat.
“I don’t believe in the impossible. I saved half this god damn country from zombies, and now I’m asking for a little payback. If I say you can drive across the fucking desert and pick her up, you’re going to go get every god damn person out there and take them with you to do it.”
They stared at each other, but it was no contest of will, no battle of spirt.
Mickey knew he wouldn’t win that way.
But he was a good negotiator.
He had learned from the best in Chinatown working his way around the fringes of gang controlled territory there.
The Chinese never accepted the first offer, and never made an offer that had to be accepted.
He had found that to be true in all the men he dealt with.
It was only in the movies where they made offers that couldn’t be refused.
This man wanted something from him.
He wanted something in return.
“I’ll do what you ask,” he said with a little more confidence. “But when I do, I’ll be wanting something in return.”
“Terms,” Ballantine grinned.
Mickey was reminded of a shark’s large white teeth and what they would do to a man.
He swallowed hard.
“I want a seat on the Council.”
“Done.”
That simple.
The man didn’t need to consult, didn’t dicker.
He just clapped his hands together and the decision was made.
“You return with my daughter safe and whole, and you’ll have a seat on the Council.”
He stood and held out a hand.
“Gather your best men. As many as you need. Get the resources together and let your sister know how you plan to cross. I want you out of here and on your way today.”
Mickey looked at the window.
It would be dark in four more hours.
“I can get us ready to go today, but kitting up will take time. I need twelve hours.”
Ballantine squinted and snarled.
“I don’t like the delay.”
“It’s not a no, Mr. Ballantine. It’s an issue of logistics. I have to find men I can trust, who have experience and get the supplies kitted up. We have to commandeer vehicles, pack them with food to last.”
“Fine.”
“I’d leave right now if you had it ready,” Mickey offered. “Do you have a truck ready to go.”
Ballantine’s hand fell.
“No.”
“Don’t you worry then. I’ll see to it and I’ll get your daughter back to you safe, Sir.”
Mickey stood and backed away.
“Mr. O’Rourke,” Ballantine stopped him.
The gangster turned and flinched as the Councilman stalked across the room toward him.
He had almost escaped, he thought, and now it was a quick swan dive down.
But Ballantine took his hand and shook it.
“We’re men who understand each other, aren’t we? A handshake is a contract between the two of us.”
He pumped his arm up and down twice and let go.
Mickey massaged his fingers and felt like he had just been in the jaws of a shark and escaped.
“We understand each other Sir.”
Then he was free.
Mickey shot a look to his sister as he passed by, and gave her a reassuring wink.
She shrugged and mouthed the word
“Sorry” before he hit the stairwell.
He couldn’t blame her for bringing him in on this though.
It wasn’t her fault that the man was impossible to refuse.
And now he had a big job ahead of him.
But the reward, the reward was worth it.
A seat on the Council.
15
Sharp allowed Jacob to lead them away from the crowd.
His men fell in after him, weapons still held ready.
The crowd didn’t surge, but neither did they move.
The shock of soldiers surprised them, as did the loss of members of their community.
There was grumbling, the zombie sympathizers still concerned with the welfare of their undead family, but the specter of the well-armed squad dissuaded them from acting on it.
They moved back onto the porch where Jacob and Pam had first been summoned to the gate.
“Keep it private,” Sharp ordered.
Georgie, Javi, and the squad deployed in a semi-circle around the yard to keep back anyone who might approach.
“We’re glad you’re okay Ma’am,” Sharp started. “We’ll get you out of here but our Com guy bought it on the landing.”
He turned to Jacob.
“I need your radio.”
The tall man shook his head.
