Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel)

by Dana Fredsti

Simone grasped her arm and gently but firmly pulled her to the side. Iron hinges creaked as someone pushed the gate open at a glacial pace.

  “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” I muttered, keeping an eye on the ever-growing crowd of zombies. An especially tall teenage boy in a basketball jersey pushed its way to the edge, wriggling like a worm as it pulled itself up onto the walkway onto its stomach. I stepped forward and chopped its head off, using one foot to shove its corpse back into the crowd below. Opportunistic hands reached for me, grasping my boot hard enough to pull me off balance.

  Motherfu—

  I twisted as I fell, but still hit the cement hard, taking the impact on my right hip and shoulder. My knapsack prevented serious thwackage to my head, but the fall rattled me enough to lose my grip on both of my blades.

  Greedy hands grabbed my legs and pulled me toward the edge of the walkway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I twisted, kicking against the fingers clutching my ankles, and reached for my katana—but it had bounced out of my reach, along with my tanto. My fingers scrabbled for purchase on the cement as greedy hands pulled me toward the edge of the walkway. Lil screamed my name and grabbed me by one arm as another hard tug yanked my legs over the side, teeth sinking into my boots trying to get to the flesh beneath.

  More hands clutched at my calves and thighs, their grip hurting even through the Kevlar. Lil’s grip on my wrist slipped even as my butt started sliding off the edge. I heard her scream again, the sound mingling with the rising moans of the zombies below, all anxious for a piece of me.

  I so did not want to become an appetizer for a bunch of tourists.

  Hands reached under my armpits and yanked me back onto the walkway, my tailbone hitting the edge with a painful thwack. Someone else—Gentry, I think—bashed the butt end of his M4 into the heads of the zombies who had front row seating. The hands and teeth clutching and biting at my feet and legs loosened, then let go as whoever had me in a death grip around my waist fell backward onto the cement. I heard a huff of air as I landed on top of my savior, the back of my head smacking into something hard.

  “Are you okay?” Lil crouched next to me. I looked up at her, adrenaline coursing through my body as I processed just how close to death I’d just come.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”

  Swiveling my head around, I found myself face to face with Griff. He was grimacing in pain, no doubt from my skull colliding with his nose, which currently dripped blood.

  “Thanks,” I said, meaning it.

  “My pleasure,” he replied, shifting slightly underneath my weight in a way that managed to add an unmistakable subtext to his words. Before I could call him on it, he stood up, hoisting me to my feet with his arms still wrapped around my body. He held onto me for a few seconds longer than necessary, then let me go.

  Tony and JT immediately stepped between us.

  The sound of the gate slamming against the wall saved me from having to say anything else to Griff. We all turned to find a tall man in his late forties or early fifties, wearing jeans and an oversized khaki shirt, glaring at us from the shadows inside the building. He had a thick tangle of black hair liberally shot with silver, all pulled back into an unkempt ponytail, and a bushy mustache and beard worthy of a member of ZZ Top.

  “Get inside,” he barked unceremoniously.

  Red Shirt was the first in, followed by Carl. I grabbed my knapsack and swords, then followed. The Gunsy Twins were the last to enter, still firing shots into the crowd of zombies shuffling toward us on the walkway. Our grumpy savior hustled them inside, grabbing the gate and pulling it shut after them. It closed with a decisive clang. Then, even as undead fingers clutched the iron bars, he slammed an inside door closed, this one made of solid wood. The chorus of moans faded down into white noise.

  We found ourselves inside what had to be the organ housing. It was an organized chaos, wood walls filled with pipes of various shapes and sizes, including a large one that wrapped around itself like a giant tuba. Cords held the pipes in place. The whole effect reminded me of a church as imagined by Dr. Seuss.

  “Follow me,” Appel barked, walking swiftly through the organ’s innards. He stopped suddenly, glaring at us. “But don’t touch anything.” He resumed his rapid passage up a staircase. “Some of these pipes weigh a hundred and fifty pounds,” he said as we passed by some that resembled anacondas. “They have brass tongues inside that determine the tones.”

  Lil and I exchanged incredulous looks. We were getting the grand tour, when all I really wanted was a damn bathroom. If he kept talking, I’d happily pee in one of the larger pipes, and see what that did for the tone.

  We followed him into a labyrinth of yet more pipes, chimes, and drums, and lots of wood. JT ran his hand over the chimes, earning a glare from our obviously reluctant host.

  “I said, don’t touch anything!”

  “Sorry,” JT responded, looking anything but sorry as he eyed the drums with longing.

  “This accesses the motor that opens and closes the door separating the organ from the audience,” our guide continued pedantically. “It has to be clean, so the parts keep working.”

  “That’s all very fascinating,” Simone said with an admirable lack of sarcasm, “but now is not the time for a tour. We have more imperative matters to deal with.”

  Our guide gave a harrumph that managed to combine irritation and displeasure. He stopped in front of a small door that would have looked at home in the Shire, barely large enough for a normal person to fit through. “This goes into the air chest, the heart of the organ. I’ll ask you again not to—”

  “Not to touch anything,” Tony said with bored disdain. “Got the message, Mariner.”

  Appel ignored the Waterworld reference and turned to the rest of us.

  “There isn’t a lot of room in the antechamber or the air chamber, so you’ll need to be patient and come in one or two at a time, at the most. This is the heart of the organ, and should we all survive what is going on above us…” He paused and patted the door, expression suddenly vulnerable. “I want this heart to keep beating.”

  With that one sentiment he made it impossible to hate him.

  “So don’t touch anything!”

  But he was still irritating.

  Red Shirt and Carl went in first, then Lil and I followed. The antechamber seemed a mix of a church confessional and a pump house or pipe factory, while the air chamber itself looked almost like a sauna—all wood interior with a bewildering array of what looked like bellows, chains, and other steampunky workings.

  At the far side of the air chamber was an open hatch in the floor. Appel gestured impatiently.

  “Down here, quickly.”

  Red Shirt and Carl went down the hatch without hesitation. I peered after them at a ladder that led down into shadows. Awfully low tech compared to the Spy Versus Spy elevator at the SF facility.

  “What, no transporter?”

  Appel gave me a blank look.

  I shut up and climbed down the ladder. If the gods were kind, there would be a bathroom at the bottom.

  The base of the ladder deposited me in a large cement room with a low ceiling, lit by several florescent strips set at regular intervals above. At the far end of the room was a metal door. Iron cots were lined up against one wall, while tables and chairs that would have been at home in a ’60s school cafeteria were shoved up against the opposite side. Boxes with various acronyms and symbols were stacked on either side of the ladder.

  A ragtag group of a dozen or so people sat at the tables or huddled on the cots. A mixture of age, gender, and race, the one thing they shared in common was a similar, shell-shocked expression.

  One of them, an attractive brunette in her thirties, stood up from one of the tables and glared at me. She had a horizontal furrow between her brows, what my mom would call an “I want” line. She wore an attractive blue-green dress with a demure neckline and a knee-length hem that wouldn’t have bee
n out of place at a church social.

  She put one hand on the shoulder of a young, pre-teen girl still sitting next to her. Based on the strong resemblance, I guessed that they were mother and daughter.

  “Are you here to get us out?” the woman demanded.

  “Not until I use a bathroom,” I said shortly. “After that, we’ll talk.”

  She nodded and pointed toward the metal entryway.

  “Third door on your left.”

  I nodded my thanks and hurried toward it before anyone else could talk to me. Some things couldn’t wait, and this was one of them.

  * * *

  The door creaked as I pulled it toward me, the sound of hinges in desperate need of WD-40.

  The hallway beyond the door was the very definition of “stark.” Cement walls and floor, lit by low-wattage bare bulbs. The place was in dire need of a makeover. Something along the lines of Dr. Strangelove’s Lab Improvement. Hell, even some tacky shag carpeting or Nagel prints on the walls would have been an improvement.

  There was, at least, a bathroom, third door on the left, as promised. Two stalls, a urinal and a sink. A rusty paper towel dispenser sagged on the wall. The words “cold” and “dank” sprung to mind. Whatever, there was toilet paper and the toilet flushed. If I could get a cup of coffee, I’d declare my life complete.

  Dropping my equipment next to the door, I made use of the facilities. Then I gave myself a quick once-over in the bathroom mirror, which was a dinged-up sheet of polished stainless steel. I looked as pathetic as I felt, all hollowed-out eyes, sand and dried blood on my face, tendrils of hair plastered to my forehead.

  Ugh.

  I took my helmet off and splashed water liberally over my face and hair in an attempt to make myself feel just a little less gross. I also freed my hair from its tight braid, relishing the sensation of my scalp loosening as I shook the heavy mass free and massaged my fingers through the strands. A headache I hadn’t even realized I had started to fade away. I decided to leave my hair down for a while, at least until it was zombie fightin’ time again.

  Retrieving my knapsack and firearms, I stepped into the hallway and nearly dropped everything again when I ran smack into Griff. Remembering the last time, I immediately backed away a few steps and braced myself, eying him warily.

  He gestured toward my hair.

  “Nice look for you.”

  “Did you follow me?”

  He looked at me, his nose still dripping blood.

  “In that you were headed to a bathroom and I needed to take care of this—” He gestured to his nose. “Yes.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Sorry about that.” There was a moment of semi-awkward silence, at least on my part. Griff seemed perfectly at ease, and I suddenly felt like I needed to get over myself.

  “About the whole life-saving thing…” I said. “Well, thanks.” That felt inadequate, though, so I added, “I guess I owe you one.”

  Griff gave me one of his half-smiles.

  “And I fully intend to collect.”

  So much for the high ground.

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” I said.

  “Not what I had in mind.” He gave me a look that was at least a 5.0 on the smolder scale, even with blood trickling down his face. Too bad for him I was mostly immune.

  Mostly.

  I mean, having someone save your life kind of tipped the scales just a little bit in their favor, right?

  “Fine,” I said. “Two drinks. Or I’ll save your life. Whichever comes first.”

  Griff gave an imperceptible nod combined with a subtle grin.

  “Fair enough. And if I save your life again… I get to choose my own reward.” The look he gave me made it clear what his idea of reward would be.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “You know, that’s just not going to happen.”

  He grinned. “We’ll see.”

  “Cold day in hell,” I said.

  Griff just smiled. “The dead are walking the earth, love,” he said. “Snowballs in hell can’t be that far behind.”

  With that he vanished into the bathroom, taking the last word with him.

  Damn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Back in the main room, I spotted Simone across the room, talking to Appel and Nathan. Lil, Carl, the Gunsy Twins, and Red Shirt were seated around one of the tables while Tony and Gentry stacked their gear on a pile nearby. JT bounced over to me as I added my knapsack and weapons to the pile, keeping my tanto close at hand.

  “You okay?” He tilted his head toward the back door. “I saw Griff headed your way.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. “He was a perfect gentleman. More or less.”

  “Cool. But just so you know, if you hadn’t come back in the next two minutes I was going after you.”

  I laughed. “Good thing I didn’t have stomach issues, or we both would have been embarrassed.”

  “I never get embarrassed.”

  Somehow I believed him.

  I hooked my arm through his and we strolled over to the table the wild cards had appropriated. I sat down on a rickety folding chair next to Lil, who had her pickaxe on the table in front of her, gore and all.

  “Um… yuck?”

  Lil looked at me, then at her pickaxe. She shrugged.

  “Nothing that’ll hurt us.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “We’re not the only ones here.”

  “So? They’re not sitting at our table.”

  My other eyebrow shot up to join its twin. Before I could say anything, however, Tony plunked himself down across from us and gave Lil a look.

  “Lil, you’re being a total bitch.”

  Then Gentry sat down next to Tony and gave Lil the Hairy Eyeball.

  “And unhygienic,” he added.

  Lil pouted, but took her pickaxe off the table and tucked it under her chair instead.

  “We’re all pretty unhygienic,” I pointed out in the interest of fairness. “Shouldn’t we be hosing ourselves off in some semi-toxic chemicals about now?”

  Gentry nodded. “All things being created equal, yeah. But this isn’t a modern DZN facility, so we can’t.” He shook his head and added grimly, “Besides, if this thing is airborne, a little bit of splatter is the least of our worries.”

  “Are there at least showers?”

  “I think so,” he said.

  “I hope so,” I said. “Right now, if I had to choose between food and a hot shower, I think the shower might win.”

  “Speaking of eating,” JT said, dragging a chair up next to mine, “is there anything by way of food?”

  Gentry nodded. “Professor Fraser is taking care of that right now.”

  I glanced across the room where Simone was deep in conversation with an increasingly cranky looking Appel.

  “He doesn’t look very happy about it.”

  Gentry gave a small shrug. “He’s been pretty much on his own down here for the last ten years. I guess he doesn’t adapt too well to company.”

  Once more my eyebrows went up. They were getting quite a workout today.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not sorry at all, “but this isn’t exactly an isolated outpost in deepest Siberia. This is in the middle of one of the most popular tourist destinations in California. You’d think he’d be used to company.”

  “Not down here,” Gentry said. “From what I can gather, this facility has been a one-man operation for the last twenty years.”

  “It’s only twenty years old?” I looked around, taking in the pitted concrete walls and “been here since the dawn of time” ambience.

  “Hardly,” said a voice over my shoulder. I jumped a little as Simone spoke behind me. She put a hand on my shoulder by way of apology, and continued, “This facility was built as a safe house during the 1915 Panama-California Exposition. There were rumors that a small outbreak had occurred in Panama during the building of the Canal, and the DZN feared the possibility of infection during the celebration.”

  Ever
yone in the room focused their attention on her. Once a teacher, always a teacher.

  “Thankfully, nothing came of their fears, and the safe house was expanded into a small research facility. It was fully manned up through the end of the Cold War. When the USSR broke up, that reduced the threat of a Soviet-engineered outbreak, and smaller facilities like this one were deemed redundant. Nevertheless, they were kept as safe houses with minimal staff. In this case—” She gestured across the room, toward Eric Appel. “—just him.”

  I glanced around at the civilians.

  “He saved these people?”

  “Damn straight he did.”

  I looked up to find the woman in the blue-green dress standing at the end of the table, glaring at me with eyes the same color as her dress. The young girl stood behind her, arms wrapped around the woman’s waist. She didn’t look so good, but considering what she’d been through, that wasn’t surprising.

  “He saved us,” she continued, patting the girl on one hand. “He called out to us, then pulled us in here—as many people as he could when things went to hell.”

  I looked at the half dozen or so people scattered around the room.

  “I guess not a lot of people listened to him.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “No. But it happened so fast…” She paused, biting her lip. “Most people thought it was a film shoot or reality show. What else could it be? No one believed they were in danger until—” She stopped, angrily swiping away the tears that welled up. “Until it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. She had to have lost someone up above who hadn’t believed in time.

  “So you’re here to get us out, right?” she continued. “I mean, now that you’ve used the bathroom and all.”

  I tried a smile on for size. It didn’t fit very well, and I was just too worn out to come up with a quick and easy answer, especially since I had no idea why we were actually here in Balboa Park instead of kicking ass and getting Gabriel back.

  “Um, not exactly.”

  The woman’s frown grew more pronounced, and several of the nearby civilians began muttering restlessly. The girl, in the meantime, stared at me with large jade-green eyes set deeply into shadowed sockets.