LZR-1143: Infection

by Bryan James

  My thoughts wandered to the news reports I had seen back at the hospital. The barricades over the interstates, the huge crowds of creatures approaching the small military forces arrayed against them.

  “Not possible to control that many, not as fast as they were multiplying. So they fell back again, even as reports filtered in of new outbreaks in the Western states: Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Texas. What you call your Midwest was already seeing large uprisings in some big cities, but there were some that remained relatively calm or that allowed the authorities more time to contain isolated outbreaks. Typically smaller cities that didn’t see as much air travel as the larger ones. This is your nation’s plan “B” so to speak. They’re fortifying the smaller Midwest cities, and attempting to isolate the outbreaks in the Western states, with very little success. And all in a matter of days.” He moved back to the desk, leaving the map unrolled as if to drive his point home.

  “These things are everywhere, and they’re multiplying like bloody bunnies. Our satellites confirm that you have widespread fire, confusion and all out pandemonium in most, if not all, of the major cities on the Eastern Seaboard.” He sat down heavily again, picking up his scotch and taking a long drink.

  “But you mentioned Florida? What does Florida have to do with Midwestern cities?” Kate asked, as I nodded along.

  “Apparently, the Midwest idea was local. Came from some enterprising local governments that had managed their own evacuation and emergency response tactics as this thing unfolded. They were on top of the isolated outbreaks as they occurred and had the foresight to shut down their airports and train stations, barricade their incoming interstates, and initiate body checks, as soon as it was apparent what was happening. The whole time, your federal government was caught flat footed, still holding their wankers in their hands a full 24 hours into the infection.” He smiled and turned to Kate. “Forgive my British,” he joked as she smiled in return.

  “So what did the feds do?”

  “Finally someone got their head on straight, and remembered their primary school geography. Zeds can’t swim-at least not that we know of-and the outbreak started in the Northeast. If they could isolate outbreaks in Florida and cut them off before they spread… ”

  “… then the peninsula would be the perfect stronghold against a Southward infestation.” I finished for him, understanding. “But that strip of land is huge,” I continued on, thinking out loud. “How the hell can they protect the whole strip between the two oceans?”

  He shrugged. “Sounds impossible to me, but last I heard, they were moving all the military assets from Florida, Texas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Louisiana along interstate 10, and mobilizing all their air units from the state to patrol the I-10 corridor. I also heard a rumor that they were commandeering civilian cars and trucks to park on the interstate as a makeshift wall, but…” he drifted off and shrugged.

  “We only get sporadic reports, and lately they’ve been fewer and fewer. I pieced together the picture I just painted you from com chatter, refugee reports and radio intercepts, as well as reports from fleet headquarters. But we have little direct knowledge from later than 36 hours after the outbreak.”

  I tried to wrap my mind around such an extraordinary concept. The Eastern seaboard had been abandoned and overrun, government response was disjointed at best, hopelessly inept at worst. The zombies were in de facto control of almost half the country and threatened infestation of the other half despite our best efforts.

  But it didn’t matter, I reminded myself. If there is hope for a cure or a vaccine, if Maria’s legacy was the salvation of mankind from the effects of Lazarus, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. We wouldn’t be safe in Florida, or England, or even fucking Antarctica. This thing would take over the planet. It was just a matter of time. It had to be stopped.

  “I still have to go,” I said into the silence that followed his last comment. “I may know of a cure.”

  Now Captain James was interested. No laughing matter anymore. “How’s that?” I could hear Hartliss shift behind me.

  “My wife. She was a researcher, a biochemist, at a government facility outside the city. A place called Starling Mountain. When she died,” I hurried past that point, “she was working on a project code named Lazarus. It was designed to reanimate dead cells. They had succeeded, apparently only to a limited extent, but were working to iron out the kinks.”

  Everyone’s eyes were on me, their faces serious as I continued. Kate’s face revealed something more, but I couldn’t place the look.

  “There was another doctor there, a Doctor Kopland, that was supposedly the best in the field. He was working on fixing the anomalies in the project. That was months ago. He had to have time to get it right.” I looked around hopefully, searching for agreement, comprehension, or even the lack of conviction that I was insane.

  Hartliss didn’t make a sound, and Kate just looked at me, her eyes searching my face, concern evident on her expressive face. James sat back, smiling, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t take your word on this. You have to realize how bloody insane it sounds. You, and forgive me for bringing this up again, a criminally insane ex-movie star-action movie star-want me to lend you my only helicopter and a pilot to go chasing down an ephemeral cure that might or might not exist, that your wife, who you supposedly murdered, may or may not have worked on, so that you can be humanity’s last hope against the newest killer plague?”

  His empty glass came down hard on his desk like a gavel, condensation from the bottom making a wet ring on the dark wood. I suppressed the urge to find him a coaster, as the voice in my head pushed into my consciousness.

  He’s on to you…he knows you’re still crazy. You know how crazy this sounds - did you need to verbalize it to hear it yourself? You are mankind’s hope. Just like one of your movies. You, and only you, hold the key to humanity’s redemption. Just like one of your movies. Why don’t you defecate on the floor, claw your eyes out, jump off the radar mast… those would be clearer examples of your insanity than spouting off this ridiculous theory of yours. Silly crazy person, heroics are for movies.

  And it was gone again.

  Ignoring the voice, I pressed on, fully committed. “I know this sounds crazy, but it’s true. I’m not asking for a loan, I’m just asking for a ride.”

  Before he could answer, the loudspeaker above my head interrupted in a metallic squawk: “Captain James, incoming message from fleet headquarters. Captain to the bridge.”

  He shook his head and stood up, acknowledging his page with his movements. Walking to the side of the desk and stopping, turning toward us, he took a breath, exhaling fully before speaking again.

  “Every time I send Hartliss out there,” he jerked his hand toward the window and my eyes followed, drawn again to the statute of liberty, eyes focused on the torch. On the promise of hope, the very epitome of new beginnings, “I risk his life, the life of his crewman, and my only chopper. I don’t have the luxury of authorizing fanciful trips like this, and the answer must be, and is, an unqualified no. I’m quite sorry.” He strode quickly past us, turning only after he passed through the open hatch, past Hartliss. He looked at his watch.

  “The Lieutenant will show you back to your quarters after you have a chance to eat with the first shift of refugees. It was a pleasure meeting with you both.” He continued on, the clanking sound of his footfalls fading down the corridor.

  I hung my head, disappointed and not a little embarrassed at revealing my theory to Kate. The sudden touch of her hand on my back, comforting and reassuring, brought my head up and my eyes to hers. Hartliss spoke first, surprising us both. More surprising was what he said.

  “I have some people I think you should meet.” No smile but a suggestive glimmer in his eye as he motioned to the door. “Sounds like you chaps might have something in common.”

  As he led us down the corridor and back to the mess hall, I spoke to Kate. “I’m sorry I didn’t sAna
ru this with you before. You could see for yourself how crazy it sounded and the last thing I wanted while we were out there was for you to think I deserved to be in that place.”

  She paused for a moment before replying, ducking her head as we moved through an open hatchway. “Did you?” she asked, suggestively, “deserve to be there, I mean.”

  “I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure. I have flashes of memory, like I had on the tower, but there are still blanks. It’s the blanks, the gaps in my mind, that make me wonder. I don’t know what fills those voids, and I can’t assume the best. I won’t.”

  I glanced in her direction, stepping carefully now, not wanting to reveal the voice that had plagued my consciousness since I left the Park, not convinced it was incriminating, but not persuaded that it wasn’t.

  She stopped, turning to me, and causing Hartliss to pause as he led us down another flight of stairs. “And you think these flashes, that they’re true? That you’re not filling the gaps yourself with what you want to believe rather than what is real?” Not waiting for an answer, she started down the steps; as if it was a question she wanted me to answer for myself before responding to her.

  Oh shit, hotshot, she’s on to you too! These people can see right through you! That’s it, game over. Go home. Back to the loony bin. Rubber rooms and nailed down furniture for you for the rest of your miserable life.

  With great effort, I shut the door to the voice and replied as best I could to both.

  “These are real memories, as real as anything else I can remember. But you’re right, who’s sure of anything in their own mind, in their own head? Who of us knows at any given moment what facts, feelings or memories we create to make ourselves feel better, to motivate us, to give us hope? All I know is that I remember these things, and they’re as real as you are.”

  Ah. And how real is she?

  I sighed, knowing it was all too much. Knowing that were I her, this story would be a far cry from believable. We passed into the mess, where it looked like about a third of the refugees were seated, eating a small meal on metal trays. They looked up as we entered and the looks returned, in all their splendid variety. Hate and awe, judgment and forgiveness. A confusing mass of emotions from people who I had never met, but who felt they knew me nevertheless.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper, grabbing her arm firmly and turning her toward me, needing her to understand, to believe. “Look, I know it seems unfathomable and an incredible coincidence, but I think we have a chance here. A chance to set this straight, or at least keep it from getting too big. If I don’t try, I’ll never know. If I try and fail, no one’s hurt. No harm no foul. If I succeed…”

  “…a big if…” she interjected, “even if you have your facts straight…”

  I continued over her objections, “…If I do, we have a chance. Otherwise, the rest of world’s going to go the way of the U.S., it’s only a matter of time.” I finished my appeal quickly, needing to stop the flood of words that wanted to come.

  I moved to the counter alone, serving myself dinner, feeling her follow me to the counter and recognizing again how little I had eaten recently. I sat alone at the end of the last table, away from judging eyes. Away from her, ashamed and saddened by her judgment.

  I shoveled a bite of some sort of potato mash into my mouth, staring at the oily gravy pooling in the center of the mass of starch on my plate. Peas clung to the side of the mash, forming a green necklace around the white mass, reminding me of Erica’s infected neck. In a rush of disgusting memories from the last two days, I pushed my tray away and stood. Beside me, the sudden warmth of another body and her voice.

  “You’re going to need your strength for our trip,” she said softly, pulling the tray back in front of me.

  “Our trip?” I asked.

  She looked at me over her tray of warm food, fork poised halfway to her mouth, “You didn’t think I’d let you go alone, did you? Shit. Where else would I go? Besides, I get sea sick.” She grabbed my fork and handed it to me.

  “Now eat up.” A full smile this time, lighting up her sparkling eyes. “Might not be a lot open where we’re going.”

  Chapter 17

  We got through half of our dinner before Hartliss sat down, accompanied by two friends. One of them was, quite simply, the largest man I had ever met-ever even seen. He towered head and shoulders above Hartliss and his shoulders extended at least half again as wide as the Lieutenant’s. Gargantuan arms fought to break free of the oppressive confines of his thin tee shirt. The black markings of tattoos, clearly some sort of primal art, rose out of the neck and sleeves of his shirt, covering his arms to the wrists and his neck to the collarbone. Large black eyes gleamed with a disarming humor out of a friendly face, pearly white teeth flashing a quick smile as he sat down across from me. I could almost hear the bench cry out in agony as his massive weight settled down.

  Beside him and in stark, incongruous contrast to his dominating figure sat a small, slight woman, face serious with large, bright blue eyes searching the room behind us, as if assessing potential threats. Her black hair was pulled up tightly in a severe bun that sat against the back of her head like a beetle nestled in a tree limb. Her sharp features accentuated her almost diminutive size, her full lips and fairly ample chest emphasizing her femininity.

  “Never met a movie star before,” came the deep voice from the monster across from me, still smiling as he extended his hand. “My name’s Anaru.” Seeing the question on my face, he finished, “It’s Maori.”

  “Mike,” I said, “it’s… shit, I don’t know. Let’s say Flemish.” He laughed.

  Jesus, his hand was the size of a 48-ounce porterhouse! Had he ever eaten a movie star before? Then again, would he have even noticed? I grabbed his hand, afraid not to.

  “Ever met an insane felon before?” asked his companion, looking hard at me. No hand extended from her.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he answered with a thoughtful look as he leaned across the table, shaking Kate’s hand, “But I took a tour of the Capitol building once a couple years ago, so it’s hard to know for sure.” Straight faced, he looked at me and winked slowly as he returned to his seat. I smiled in return.

  She apparently lacked any visible sense of humor. “I don’t even know what we’re doing here,” she said, rising from the bench across from Kate and looking at Hartliss, eyes blazing. “I don’t need to talk to a crazy person. This is bullshit.”

  Hartliss grabbed her arm. “Calm down, Sam. There’s something you need to hear. It’s about Lazarus.” That got her attention. She stared at him for a moment before sitting down again, competing emotions evident in her stormy demeanor.

  “Mike, Kate, this is Sam,” he said by way of introduction. Turning to me, “I plucked each of these blokes out of harm’s way a day back, and gave them a brief run down of your little talk with the Captain-told ‘em you wanted to go back into the mess onshore.”

  He grinned as if it were funny. It was funny. Not funny ha-ha, but funny in the same way that a banana and mayonnaise sandwich was funny. A really sick, backwards kind of way.

  “Thought you might want to meet, seeing as you have something in common. I know a lot of the stories hereabouts, and there’s something sounds similar in what you were saying in the Captain’s office. Why don’t you tell them what you told him?”

  I hastily recounted my story, detailing as much as I could remember as Sam and Anaru looked on. Despite her aversion to me, she was clearly interested, asking questions at times. Anaru simply listened, eyes intent, dark brown hands crossed on the table in front of him.

  “Where is this facility?” asked Sam as I finished.

  “How do you know about Lazarus?” I asked instead, feeling I had disclosed enough and was due some information in return.

  She looked to Hartliss, who stood behind Kate and I, and then back to me. No response.

  Hartliss spoke up, speaking for her as he continued to stare at her, as if disappointed.

&
nbsp; “Sam, or should I say agent Samantha Courtney of the United States Secret Service, was picked up at Fort Dix after it was completely overrun. We took her off the roof of the base water tower yesterday evening. She was the last of four agents that had made their way by Army chopper to the base after D.C. was evacuated.”

  He stopped, looking to us and back to her. “Would you like to continue?” This was directed to her.

  She glared at him for several seconds before turning her eyes to Kate, as if she was the only one being addressed.

  “We were part of the President’s protection detail, and were at the White House with him when this started. Those things started getting heavy at the gates and fences within 6 hours of the initial outbreak. Agents at the gates had been compromised by the time the evac chopper got to the lawn, and we got POTUS to the helicopter in time for a safe dust-off. We were on board and preparing to lift off when he realized his damn cat wasn’t on board.”

  She looked down to the table, and back up, shaking her head slightly with the memory.

  “He ordered myself and another agent to get the damn thing. We went back in while those things shambled through the Rose Garden and into the main entrance. The cat wasn’t in the residence, and we radioed back to the chopper to report that it was a no go. Next thing we knew, the chopper was in the air. We weren’t.”

  “They left you behind? For a cat?” Kate asked, incredulous.

  I chuckled, before thinking better of it. I couldn’t help it. I thought that was some funny shit.

  “The President’s safety is the primary concern,” she replied, glaring at me with white hot contempt.

  “Yeah, especially to him,” said Anaru, chuckling. She didn’t return the smile.

  Kate was curious, and kept with the story. “So you made it to Dix? How’d you get out of the White House?”

  “Myself and four other agents, five staff members and a cook made it to the roof, where we caught one of the last Army helos out of the city. It had been called in to support Marine One, but no one had called it off after POTUS made it out.” She added, shrugging, “We were lucky.”