by Bryan James
“And Lazarus?” I asked.
Ignoring me, she turned again to address Kate. “On our way to Marine One, POTUS took a call from the Secretary of Defense. I heard him ask whether this was a Lazarus situation. I couldn’t hear the response, but he was mighty pissed when they finished answering.”
I was dumbfounded. This seemed to confirm my suspicions about the cause, and could substantiate my theories about the cure.
She lost some of her defensiveness as she clearly thought hard about what she followed with, her eyes narrowing and her voice lowering. “And then he said something really weird. He told them to deal with it by following the ‘Baghdad protocol.’ No indication on what that is, but he sounded pretty damn pissed.”
Hartliss chimed in, “That was the last she heard before getting booted off the chopper and after the Army got eaten at Dix, she became our guest here.” He smiled disarmingly.
“You really supposed to be telling a bunch of people you don’t know what you overheard the president say? Isn’t that some sort of national security breach of something?” I just had to have the last word; besides, I didn’t like her attitude.
“Not if I kill you after I’m done talking, wiseass.”
“So this is good, right?” asked Kate, face alight with interest, ignoring our banter. “This proves that your memories of Starling Mountain are real. Now all we need is a way in.”
“How do you play into this?” I asked Anaru, recognizing why Hartliss had brought in Sam, but curious as to why he was here.
He smiled back. “I don’t like boats,” he said simply.
“Anaru here has been asking me since he arrived how he could help out in the rescue efforts. Poor chap is going through occupational withdrawal,” Hartliss joked.
“I’m a firefighter,” he said simply, explaining the Lieutenant’s joke. “And no offense, but if you don’t mind the company, I think you could use some help.” I looked at his massive form and nodded mutely, imagining the damage he could do with a baseball bat. Or a pipe. Or a fricking slinky on a stick.
“But we still have the problem of transport,” I said, looking sideways at Hartliss. “Starling Mountain is inland, almost a hundred miles over decently dangerous territory, and I’m guessing by land we wouldn’t stand a chance…”
“Which leaves me to break orders and give you a ride, right then?” finished Hartliss for me. The other refugees were getting up from the tables. It was time for the next shift of eaters. He stood up.
“You chaps get some rest, and you leave the details to me. In a few days, I should be able to get you on an inbound flight. What the Captain doesn’t know won’t hurt him, yeah?”
“Why would you do that? James is going to be pretty peeved, I would imagine.”
He looked down at me, losing the smile. “That shit out there is right scary, okay? I’ve got a wife and a kid at home and I don’t fancy returning to Portsmouth to a brood of zombies. You may think this is your country’s little problem, but the way I see it, if we don’t get this bloody thing under control, it becomes everyone’s problem real soon. I’ve seen those things tear a child to pieces and eat the remains. I never thought I appreciated real evil ‘til then. Well I bloody well do now.”
He paused, not really looking at anyone. “I’ll try to get word to you before we need to leave. Keep your heads down ‘til then.”
The rest of us stood, looking at each other. “How about you?” I asked Sam.
“If there’s a chance this thing can be stopped, I’m going with you. But you can damn well rest assured that I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”
I muttered under my breath in response to her parting shot, but safely out of her earshot as she turned and moved out the door. Anaru smiled to me and followed her, trying to talk to her as they stepped out of the hatch.
“I heard that,” Kate said, softly.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“I don’t think I’ve heard a ‘your mom’ retort since grade school. Very nice.” She smiled, standing up.
I wasn’t above such things. I was crazy, remember?
I turned to Hartliss. “What about Fred? Will he be OK here, with the others?”
He nodded. “There’s a kindergarten teacher that I think he’s already taken a shine to. He’ll be as safe as any of us.” He gestured to the door. “Now you really need to get some sleep. You all look like crap.”
I laughed. “Then I already look as good as I feel.”
He ushered us through the door and we followed the rest back to the general quarters as the next shift of refugees passed us toward the mess. I shuffled wearily behind Kate, exhaustion hitting me like a freight train as my mind and body, finally given permission to do so, slowed to a crawl.
I thought about the situation. About our “mission”. I tried to remember Starling Mountain. I had only been there once, driving Maria to work in an attempt to get a little more time together in an otherwise impossible schedule. It was a secluded location-pretty isolated. In truth, it was really only accessible by one road running north from a medium sized town. I think the name of the town was Kearny. I needed to look at a map.
Waving to Fred, who was apparently much enamored with a young woman across the room, I collapsed on my bunk, the chatter of others droning on in the background. I stared at the ceiling, wracking my brain for as much information as possible, for as many memories that would surface about Maria and anything that she told me. Barbed wire fencing, key card controlled access, and a whole bunch of guards. That’s what I remembered. That, and signing an autograph for a groundskeeper on my way back to civilization.
My mind came back to Maria.
Jesus.
Had I killed her? I still didn’t know. I couldn’t make the memories come; I couldn’t force myself to recall. The blood, the noises, the sounds. Sitting at the counter, covered in blood. Covered in her blood.
My mind suddenly exploded, recognition and understanding burning inside, a hot fire of sadness and relief, warring with one another in an emotional battle for my approval. The noises I heard when I got home weren’t Maria. I mean, they were, but they weren’t.
She must have been infected! That’s why she brought home the information, and that’s why she didn’t answer when I called out. It was why she hadn’t slept in the bed; why no tea was boiling. The bastards had infected her! Or allowed her to infect herself. That’s why the reports didn’t match up. The autopsy, the coroner’s report, the cop’s reports…they didn’t match up because she was dead when I got home. My Greg Norman attack did kill her, just not in the traditional sense.
She must have come at me, startled me when I picked up the folder. Somehow, I got to the putter and scored a lucky shot to the head. It felled her, she “died” and I went into some sort of catatonic shock. It was all making sense now.
But why had she escaped, or left, knowing she had been infected? Why would she risk putting others in harm’s way?
You can’t imagine the frustration of knowing a memory is in there, rattling around just outside of your grasp. I knew I knew, you know? It was just… like trying to catch water as it came out of a faucet. It looked like you could grab it, but when you close your fist around it, the water pours out over your fingers and you end up with nothing. That was my battle; my memories were present, just not accounted for.
My last remnant of fleeting concentration was broken as I noticed Kate walking toward me from the other side of the room, where she had just checked on Fred. Her hair was down again, eyes and mouth smiling as she caught my gaze. They had issued us each the dark blue jumpsuit that was the uniform of the crew. Hers was bound tightly around her small waist, the legs too baggy and the top virtually hanging off her slender frame. She had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing smooth, sleekly muscular arms.
She sat down on the bunk and I moved back quickly to allow her space to sit. She leaned against my curled up legs, her warmth a pleasant feel against my thighs as she turned tow
ard me, pulling her feet up onto the bunk. She hugged her legs against her chest and locked her hands on each opposing elbow, cocking her head to one side and looking at me. I could smell her freshly washed hair, still slightly damp from the showers. It was a nice smell. Comforting.
“I just spoke to Fred’s new friend. She’s sweet, and doesn’t mind looking after him,” a haunted look passed her eyes like a storm cloud driven in a blustering wind. “She was at school when this broke. They were in the classroom until midday, waiting for the parents to come to pick up the kids,” she shuddered, closing her eyes.
“The parents didn’t show, but the creatures did. Only a few, but she couldn’t keep them out. She got as many of the children out as she could, but the kids couldn’t move fast enough. She eventually lost all of them. Some reanimated so quickly that she was running from her former pupils.”
She sighed, opening her eyes and looking at me. “This has to stop. We need to put an end to it. We can’t let it spread.”
A single tear traveled down her smooth cheek, glistening trail reflecting the fluorescent light from the ceiling. She didn’t wait for a response, but uncurled and laid down on her back next to me. Staring at the ceiling, she sighed, voice thick with emotion.
“I have a daughter. She lives with her father in Vancouver. If… ” She couldn’t continue, but she didn’t need to. She started to sob quietly, eyes closing as her body shook slightly with each gasp of air.
I lay there quietly. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t think there was anything to be said. So I stayed quiet, eventually searching for and finding her hand. She didn’t pull away. I drifted off, the light touch of her fingers in my palm the last sensation I felt before sleep took me.
Chapter 18
We were on the ship for three days, killing time and waiting for a signal from Hartliss that our departure was imminent. He kept us informed as much as possible, but was constantly busy. We used the time to recuperate and recharge. God knows we needed it.
They kept us fed, despite what I knew must be a shortage of food. I ate almost constantly; my stomach felt as if it hadn’t been full for decades, and I couldn’t get enough. Good, bad, undercooked, overcooked; it didn’t matter, I’d eat it. Kate said that I was probably going through some sort of withdrawal from the drugs I had been on at the Park. I didn’t much care, as long as I ate.
I slept, but only fitfully. My rest was constantly interrupted by dreams. Most of the time, they were nothing consequential. At least, nothing that wasn’t to be expected after fighting your way through zombies, watching people get eaten, and more or less witnessing as close to the apocalypse as you thought you’d ever see.
We were anxious to do something and it was tough after the first day to sit on our hands. Reports came in slowly of various radio chatter and news reports. They were fewer and farther between as the hours passed. The short story was that cities were falling and the infection was spreading. People were panicking, the government was ineffectual, and we were mutely watching and listening to the slow and steady collapse of our civilization. All in all, not a great way to spend some enforced down time.
There were rumors about messages from British command, whispers of secret plans and orders, but it was hard to separate wheat from chaff. The soldiers and sailors on board didn’t share much past news from the shore, and Hartliss wasn’t terribly disclosing in our brief conversations.
The real bitch of the stay on the boat wasn’t the dreams, and it wasn’t even the sickening rocking of the ship-although I have to say, a windowless room in the middle of a boat is not a great place to be disposed to seasickness. No, the real rub was the people. Half of them seemed to despise me, the other half adore me.There seemed to be no way around the judgmental looks and the sharp whispers of condemnation. Most had seen the trial or had caught the surrounding publicity in passing and, in the way of our digitally enhanced, 24-hour news, rush to judgment society, had either acquitted or convicted me without considering the case. Not that I really gave a shiny rat’s buttock, but the burden of their attention, especially under the circumstances, was very trying.
The worst-the absolute worst-wasn’t the bastards that called me a murderer or left me hate notes on my bunk. It wasn’t even the prick that tried to trip me as I walked by his chair in the mess. No, it wasn’t even the haters. It was the lovers-or should I say, the line-lovers.
Schwarzenegger was caught up by “I’ll be back.” Stallone had “Adrian!” I had the cheesy one-liner that that had been my own personal banner ad for five years.
The scene was shot in a cafeteria. Hence the infamous line.
I had valiantly chased a group of terrorists through the streets of New York City, up escalators and stairwells, down alleys and trash chutes. They possessed a nuclear detonator and my daughter. Although one would think that either of those would be sufficient justification for my character’s urgency and tenacity, the writers apparently theorized that today’s theater-goers needed double the suspense to justify twenty dollar tickets.
There had been gun battles throughout the movie, and violent tumbles galore. The set was top-notch, and I always wondered why they settled on a cafeteria as the grand finale. It was a nice cafeteria, all glass and marble, set on the fiftieth floor of a huge office building. But it lacked the gravitas of many other action movie finales. Take Commando and Rambo for instance, with the pipe room and the rain forest, respectively. Those were great finale scenes. Classics.
I, however, got the food service room in a Canadian insurance building.
But it worked. Incredibly well, it turns out. Well enough, at least, that the last line in the scene became “mine.” It became the thing associated with the person. Emblazoned on shirts, hats, coffee mugs, the cover to the DVD, the poster for the film. You name it, that line was the linguistic alter ego of my professional career.
Despite my repeated indications that I was exhausted, they pressed me to the point that I fled when people were about. In other words, I started to hide.
The one bright spot of that time was that I got to know Kate better. Despite my Houdini acts, she always seemed to be able to find me. After that first night, she wasn’t anxious to talk about her daughter, and I didn’t press. She seemed to have said what she needed, and was happy to talk about everything else: my case, her school, my family, my movies, her job at the Park. Just not her daughter. If I had kids, I probably wouldn’t want to have to think about what they were going through thousands of miles away either.
It was at the end of the third day that Hartliss found us in the mess again, as I shoved down a third helping of some sort of meat with what appeared to be potatoes. Kate was sipping a cup of coffee that, given the amount of time she had been nursing it, must have been tepid at best.
“Tonight looks good, chaps.” He looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. “Can’t say when, but be ready. I left some clothes in your bunks for you; don’t put ‘em on til I come for you. Don’t want our secret to get out, eh?”
He got up quickly, looking down at us seriously. “It’s gotten right nasty out there, just so you know. I’ve been out twice, and there’s nothing on the ground moving faster than a crawl, if you get my drift. Don’t know about your landing site, but can’t imagine it’s much better.”
He paused, smiling. “Not that I thought I’d deter you crazy blokes, but just thought you should know.” Still grinning, he threw us a fake half-salute and slipped out.
Making our way back to the cabin, we tried to get some sleep. I moved the clothes surreptitiously under the bed and laid down, watching Kate make her way back to her own bunk. She waved at me with a half smile as she laid her head down, and I smiled back.
Sleep didn’t come easy that night, but it came. There were no dreams.
I awoke to Kate’s urgent whisper.
“Mike! Wake up! Time to go!”
An alarm was sounding, consistently bleating out some sort of alert tone, red light twirling above the ha
tch casting a Hades-like glow about the shared room. She stood over me, eyes quick and darting.
I bolted upright, still in a daze.
“Is it time?” Jesus I was tired. My eyes would barely open. Sam and Anaru stood behind her at the open hatch door. They wore the black and white camouflage fatigues that had been left for us, identical to the ones worn by the marines on board.
Kate reached under my bed and tossed me my clothes and a pair of boots, glancing toward the open hatchway as she did so. She ducked back into the room and pulled off her standard-issue refugee shirt as she spoke, unconcerned with modesty as she stripped down to her skivvies in front of everyone in the room. I couldn’t help but notice that she had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Some sort of drill or something. Apparently Hartliss thought this would be a good time to take a ride in all the confusion,” she answered, her voice briefly muffled as she pulled the new shirt on over her head and hastily pulling on the matching pants, pulling the belt through the final loop as she moved close to the open door again. She watched crew pass the cabin through the crack in the door as I followed her lead, tossing my pants and shirt in a pile on my bunk and quickly pulling on the fatigues.
The others in the room watched us mutely and curiously, unsure as to what was happening.
As I tied my boots over the heavy pants, I wondered what kind of drill they would be running under these circumstances. Anti-aircraft? Anti-submarine? Damn military always has to drill something.
I rose from the bunk as a man from the back of the room got up and spoke to Anaru. “Where are you going? Is there something wrong with the ship?”
Anaru shook his head. “Nothing wrong with the ship. Something wrong with him, though. He wants to go back to shore.” He paused, then said to the man, “Wanna come?”
