by Rick Chesler
“Atlanta,” Veronica said glumly.
“Look around the plane,” Alex said in a monotone voice, a command just coming without conscious thought. “See what kind of useful gear you can scrounge up. Flare gun, first aid kit, flashlight, tools, anything.”
Veronica undid her seatbelt catch and started rooting around the plane while the radio bulletin continued.
“Although the outbreak of this unknown disease-causing agent, responsible for violent, irrational behavior reminiscent of fictional zombies, is widespread in the major cities, there are reported to be survivors barricading themselves inside at numerous locations within the fallen areas…”
Alex was jarred from the broadcast by Veronica’s yell. “I’ve got something! Two things!”
He heard her dragging something forward over the cabin seats.
“What you got?”
A flashlight landed on her empty front seat.
“Okay. And?”
She tossed two backpacks up front. Alex’s eyes widened immediately as he recognized what they were.
“Parachute packs. Hmmmm….”
“What do you think?”
“I’ve jumped a couple dozen times. You?”
“Never. How hard can it be? Put it on, jump out, wait a few seconds to clear the plane and then pull this cord here, right?” She pointed to a pull cord at the bottom of one of the packs.
“That’s pretty much it. Now that I think of it, it’s not a bad idea. Even if I could pull off a controlled landing with this thing, it’s going to be damn near impossible to get close to the CDC headquarters, assuming we can commandeer a vehicle and we aren’t immediately eaten by airport zombie security.”
Veronica nodded. “Screw it. Let’s jump. I know how to open the door already, at least.”
“Yeah, but what then? Assuming this doctor’s even still alive, barricaded or whatever, and assuming we can get to her without being eaten, how do we get her out of a city overrun with millions of flesh-eating monsters?”
“One thing at a time, please.” Veronica tried to smile as she slipped an arm through one of her parachute straps. “Try to focus, will you?”
After a less-than-graceful circling of the major city hub, Alex figured out how to put the plane into autopilot for a somewhat lower altitude as they flew back around the outskirts of Atlanta and plotted a straight bath toward the taller buildings and where they mapped the CDC center. “We should jump now before we get too close to the heart of the city. Hopefully when the plane crashes it’ll provide a distraction without killing innocent people.”
Veronica donned her ‘chute pack while Alex made final adjustments to the plane’s controls, slowing the airspeed down to just above a stall, before doing the same. He scoured the ground, a few thousand feet below.
“Ready?” He grabbed the flashlight from the seat and shoved it into a pocket of his jeans. “Remember, flex your knees and roll when you land. Can’t afford either of us to have a sprained ankle or worse. You first.”
Veronica gripped his hand and looked into his eyes. Then she slid across the seat and gripped the door latch again. “Here goes nothing.”
She pushed the door open and dangled her feet outside while they felt and heard the rush of air.
“On three!” Alex counted it down. “…jump!”
Veronica dropped away from the plane. Alex watched to make sure she wouldn’t hang up on any part of the aircraft, and then he launched himself into the air after her. For a few heartbreaking moments, it seemed like she wasn’t going to open her chute. Was there some problem with it? She had just found these laying around, basically. What if they had some defects?
Then, just as he wondered if he could go into a steep dive and catch up to her before deploying his own chute to slow them both, he saw a white petal bloom in the air beneath him, and Veronica was jerked skyward for a few seconds before drifting gently back downward.
Alex pulled the ripcord for his ‘chute and smiled when it opened. Enjoy the ride.
And he did, gliding and swaying gracefully, feeling the wind and the ultimate peace and silence…until they came within a few hundred feet of the ground and saw what they were dropping into.
25.
CDC Headquarters, Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Arcadia Grey stared helplessly at a cage full of rhesus macaque monkeys, every one of which was dead with an iron spike through its head after having been stunned with a captive bolt pistol. In a separate cage, a single, perfectly healthy specimen—the last such example she had access to—perched on a wooden dowel, rocking uneasily back and forth.
Grey’s hands trembled with impotent rage as sweat beaded on her high forehead, above which black hair strewn with silver streaks poured down her back in a ponytail.
Working from Xander Dyson’s research materials created in the days leading up to his untimely death on Adranos Island, she had thrown everything she could think of at the prion infection. Everything. But so far to no avail whatsoever. She hadn’t made any headway on it, other than eliminating the techniques she had tried. It didn’t help having a room full of concerned scientists and political leaders watching her every move, either. Call it scientific stage fright, but she wasn’t used to working with so many pairs of eyes on her at once. Usually she was the boss, directing her contingent of junior scientists, researchers and lab assistants, but the truth was that right now there weren’t really too many safe places to go, and those present wanted to get the news of an antidote or vaccine firsthand, since getting reliable information was fast becoming a difficult proposition in the wake of the rapid societal breakdown.
Presently, a video monitor mounted on the wall came to life with an image of a harried-looking President of the United States, with Arcadia visible in an inset window, a reminder that she was visible to the president as a disheveled mad scientist in front of a cage of dead monkeys.
“Dr. Grey, I need an update on the research, but first tell me, is it still safe in your building?”
She took a deep breath and straightened as she addressed the Commander-in-Chief. The others in the room looked on with rapt attention as well.
“My floor is on lockdown, Mr. President, and is safe for the moment, although the sounds coming from outside are most… disconcerting. I think the upper floors have been overrun.”
“I promise I’ll do what I can to shore up defenses around you as soon as this call ends.”
That promise didn’t have much of a ring of certainty around it, she thought. He’s scared.
“Now, I apologize for being so brusque, but I fear I don’t have much time. What progress have you made?”
“I’ll be blunt myself, Mr. President. I’ve been pursuing what I hoped would be leads from research notes of the late Dr. Xander Dyson, but so far nothing has been effective. There are still further avenues for me to try, but the biggest wall I’m running up against now is that I only have one more monkey, and no way to get more test subjects.”
“Mice? Rats?”
“Different physiology. Wouldn’t be helpful.” She turned and pointed to the still-living macaque behind her. It bared its teeth in the direction of the camera. “Without more testing, I can’t run other scenarios and try modifications to work on humans. I really need…” She trailed off, scratching her head like it was an itch that would never go away. I need a miracle…
“As it turns out, I can help you with your specimen needs. I’ll tell you more in a minute, but in all honesty, Dr. Grey, the way things are going here I doubt I’ll even live to see the fruits of your labor.”
Gasps issued from several in the room.
“Sir?” Grey was just as stunned.
“We’re under heavy attack. Our military is putting up a fearsome defense but there is such a heavy concentration of enemy here I have to believe that whoever orchestrated this goddamned fucking apocalypse, pardon my French, targeted D.C. specifically as priority-one for annihilation. They know about our defenses, and the bunker I’m currently lo
cked inside.”
“Mr. President…” Arcadia had no idea what to say.
“It’s okay.” The president held a hand up as if to placate her. “The American people are resilient and resourceful. They’ll get through this. I know they will. As for the government, rest assured that if our bunker here is breached, protocols are in place for continuity of government. Control will be handed out in the event that…” The president choked up for a moment.
Dr. Grey cleared her throat and moved the conversation forward. “Mr. President, you mentioned helping me with my experimental specimens?”
“Yes, yes!” His face brightened, seemingly glad to have something concrete to divert his mind from the disaster so close at hand. “Listen carefully. A CIA agent by the name of Veronica Winters and one of her associates is en route to your location as we speak via small aircraft to pick you up and take you to a research bunker set up in Colorado.”
“Colorado?”
“Yes, but—” They could hear loud noises emanating from behind the president now—muffled explosions and shouting. He turned around quickly before facing the camera once more. “I need to get going, but listen: I’m told that we have animals suitable for your research in place in the Colorado facility along with a small research staff already there. I’m going to send you their contact information so that you can have them start preparing whatever you need while you are en route? Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Make sure you bring any materials you require and can reasonably carry—computer files, specialized equipment…”
“Will do, Mr. President.”
“Get to Colorado. Finish your work. This nation is counting on you.”
“Of course, sir.” She stood at attention, not sure if she should salute at such a momentous occasion, or bow?
“Oh, and Dr. Grey?”
“Yes, Mr. President?” She waited, expecting a grand motivating statement, a last inspirational word to define the struggle and create a turning point in the war.
Suddenly the screen flickered, a loud explosion was heard and black smoke began pouring into the room with the president.
“Mr. President?” The last thing she saw was his face awash in sheer terror.
Then the screen went black and stayed that way.
26.
Shadow Location Alpha —minutes earlier
William DeKirk grinned as he watched his compliment of wall-mounted monitors that fed him a steady diet of satellite driven real-time video. He was almost beside himself with ecstasy, finally witnessing the culmination of so much effort, planning and vision. The White House was burning. The Capitol Dome had been shattered. New Orleans had once again been turned into a city of lawlessness and ruin in the face of disaster. Every time he looked at a different screen, there was some wonderful view of annihilation playing out in a different locale.
He had done it… Dredged up a long-dormant biological agent from the frozen depths of a subterranean Antarctic lake and used it not only to reanimate dinosaurs and create human zombies, but to control them. It was almost too good to be real. Yet it was.
He picked up a device that superficially resembled a TV remote and clicked a few buttons in sequence, then watched on screen as a squadron of four pterodactyls abruptly turned in mid-air.
DeKirk’s eyes flashed and he felt that primal hunger again, sensing the approach of living beings.
The doors opened and about three dozen men and women entered, hurrying inside. One of them said, “It’s time. Communication coming through any moment.”
DeKirk forced himself to keep his attention on the screens. The newcomers filed quickly inside and took seats around a large oval conference table. DeKirk finally stood, composed himself and turned to greet them. They nodded to acknowledge him and lowered their heads in mild deference.
That would change soon enough, he thought. They knew it, knew what was coming, but didn’t realize the extent of it all yet. No one did except him.
A balding man with red eyes from sleeplessness or just downright horror, pointed at the largest of the video screens, where the view it had been depicting of Atlanta under siege flickered, dissolved into snow and then coalesced into a hi-def video chat with of the President of the United States. He was flanked by a cadre of high-ranking officials—cabinet members and Joint Chiefs of Staff. His face was the very picture of grim. On screen, the POTUS raised a hand to gain their attention, and then spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Springfield, Missouri Shadow Location Alpha. As you are no doubt aware, the unthinkable has come to pass. You may not have ever expected to be in this role, or you may have thought one of the other locations would be picked, but you have been entrusted with the continuation of the government of the United States of America—our great country—in the event that the primary government falls.”
He leaned closer to the camera. “I am here to tell you, with the heaviest of hearts, that it has fallen.” He paused to let that sink in and then continued. “By now, I’m sure you’ve seen the heartbreaking footage from our capital and other landmarks.”
A table full of nodding heads uttered somber murmurs of “Yes, Mr. President,” and then the POTUS went on again.
“Effective immediately, the government of the United States and all duties and responsibilities it encompasses have been transferred to you per the Continuity of Operations Plan. The future of our great nation lies in your hands, people. Your hands.” He pointed at them through the lens.
From his desk, still seated apart from the main group, DeKirk tried to show no emotion, but it was difficult to not allow his face to light up like a child’s on Christmas morning.
The shadow government had been enacted, and he was a part of it! No, fuck that, DeKirk thought. He was it. The president continued to speak to the group but DeKirk could no longer concentrate on the words, he was so giddy with feelings of accomplishment and rapture. He’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom.
Who would have thought?
While the former president droned on, DeKirk picked up his remote control. He pressed 9-1-1 and then held down Source for three seconds. An indicator light flashed red six times and DeKirk set the remote back down on his desk.
He stood and cleared his throat, then looked back to the group.
“Jorgenson. Mayweather. Daniels…” He called out a list of half a dozen names, most of those at the table shooting him dirty looks. You’re interrupting the president! But one by one, and with great obedience, those whose names had been called rose from their seats and moved calmly but quickly to the other side of the room.
“What’s going on?” the POTUS inquired. “Are you under attack there? Is everything secure?”
It was DeKirk’s turn to take the limelight. Aware that he was on camera even from here, and finally in the camera’s focus, he addressed the former president.
“Yes, Mr. President, we are under attack, and yes, everything is quite okay.”
At that moment, a heavy rumbling noise was heard, growing louder by the second. By the time the heads of those still seated at the table had turned to look toward the room’s entrance, where the sound was loudest, the door exploded in a hail of wood splinters as the head of a crylopholosaur smashed into the room.
Beyond the door, beyond the crylo, was an enormous underground facility: massive pillars, parked 18-wheelers, overhead lights and various off-shoot corridors leading to storage rooms, warehouses, greenhouses, databanks and all manner of highly secure vaults. The dinosaur, however, had been DeKirk’s latest wildcard, brought in with the last round of supplies inside the trucks, and released at his command.
The president’s cry of “Oh my God,” was drowned out by the screams of terror issuing from his newly enacted shadow government. Except for seven of them, including DeKirk, who stood quietly on the other side of the room, wielding remote controls with knowing grins on their faces. Their day had finally come.
On the heels of the dinosaur
came a dozen human zombies, wheezing and rasping with wet, mucous-laden breathing while they poured into the room and attacked those not under DeKirk’s protection—his loyal followers. DeKirk became energized at the sight of his former colleagues being stripped of their flesh while still alive, being torn apart in the most brutal of ways, bones separated, blood spilled, organs consumed before their very eyes until the light in them changed.
The carnage caused DeKirk’s own eyes to begin to turn yellow, but even among his own Inner Cabinet, there were some who didn’t yet know, and now was not the optimal time for such a revelation. There was enough going on as it was.
Satisfied that the work at the table was well under control, DeKirk turned his attention back to the videoconference screen. He walked over to the camera so that he would be the full subject of the frame.
“Hello, Mr. President—sorry, that’s not your title anymore, though, is it?”
The ex-president leaned forward. “All this time… You.”
DeKirk smiled. “Me. Do you know me now, have you guessed?”
The Shadow Government—a rotating crew selected by double-blind teams, replaced every two years. No one in current politics knew their identities. No one in fact, knew them at all, it was all handled with the utmost secrecy. Family, friends, colleagues, no one knew. Those sequestered could keep contact with the outside world, but only in sanitized messages or video feeds that were tailored to cover stories.
“DeKirk,” the ousted president said. “So that’s why we couldn’t find you these past few years.”
Spreading his arms out wide, DeKirk smiled. “Guilty as charged. Hidden by your own people, right under your own noses. Irony is delicious, isn’t it?”
“You maneuvered yourself into this position, got on the list.”
“Guilty again,” DeKirk admitted. “And once inside Camelot down here, it was all just a simple popularity party.” He glanced around the blood and gore-splattered room, at the heaving crylo, panting and drooling blood like a satiated hound after a hunting expedition, at the seven men and women, heads bowed, meekly offering silent assent. “I’ve been chosen by my electorate down here, and now…” DeKirk laughed. “It’s over, sir. You’re looking at the new President of the United States.”
