Dead, But Not For Long (Book 2): Pestilence and Promise

by Kinney, Matthew

  “It does,” Jack said. “When my wife died, my friends and family were there to keep me sane. We also need to make it clear to everybody here that we’re doing something worthwhile by providing a haven for survivors. I don’t think it’s going to be enough for most people to just stay alive. I think they’ll have to feel needed.”

  “Exactly, dude,” Snake said. “I’ve known a lot of people who have pulled themselves out of a bad funk by helping others.”

  While Snake didn’t like to talk much about his early years, as a young man he’d worked hard to earn a PhD in psychology. He’d had a promising career before volunteering his services in Vietnam. What he’d seen there had caused him to question the status quo, and had led him to find comfort in drugs and alcohol. He’d also come to the conclusion that he didn’t want to spend his life sitting in an office. Over the years, he had learned that he could do more good by going out and talking to people in real world settings. The pay wasn’t great, but he got by, and he was a lot happier. Now he thought he might be able to use some of his education and experience to help some of those who were having problems coping.

  “That’s all we can really do,” Jack said. When the lights began to flicker again, he said, “I’d better go check on the generator.”

  “Good luck,” Snake said. He made his way up the stairs to the second floor to check on the progress there.

  ~*^*~

  ~08~

  St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing

  Snake walked into the lab, where Doune and Autumn were taking turns looking through a microscope, engrossed in an animated discussion over what they were seeing. Two small rooms adjoined the lab on either side of it. One had become Doune’s office, and the other room would be used for first aid.

  Not wanting to interrupt, Snake left and walked across the hall to the old exercise room. He saw that about half of the equipment had been moved out.

  Keith walked over to greet him. “It’s going faster than I thought it would,” the RN told Snake, “but we moved the smaller things first. Some of this equipment is so old that it’s breaking when we take it apart.”

  “Maybe we can get you some new stuff. You said yesterday you were starting a list?”

  Keith pulled out a piece of paper and held it up. “I’d like to go along when you pick it up. I’m kind of picky about my exercise equipment.”

  Snake looked at the list, not sure what half of the items were. “It’s a deal,” he said. “Once everything is up and running, how would you feel about doing some training with this stuff? Most of my guys are either way past their prime or out of shape, and if they’re going to be out there fighting zombies on a regular basis, I’d like to see them have the odds in their favor.”

  He thought about one of the bikers they’d lost recently, a man that he had dubbed Smiley. A combination of poor fitness and expired meds had done him in.

  Snake knew that he wasn’t going to end up with a bunch of guys built like Keith, who seemed to border on obsessive with his workouts, but he would settle for what he could get. If a few hours a week on the treadmill would give his guys the stamina to climb a dozen flights of stairs to help in a rescue, it was worth it.

  “Sure, I can do that,” Keith said. “Things are pretty slow now that we only have a dozen patients, so I was planning on spending more of my time running the weight room anyway.”

  “Awesome,” Snake said. “I’ll give you a heads-up when we’re ready to pick up the new equipment.”

  “Thanks,” Keith said, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

  When Snake reached the computer room, it was a hive of activity. The room was in the process of being rewired, and several new electrical outlets were being installed.

  The electrician was a man who had often worked with Hawk on his construction jobs. While not a regular part of Snake’s group, Spencer had been helping out at the shelter on the day of the outbreak, and he had been with the group ever since. He was standing in a pile of drywall chunks, running wire down a stud in the wall.

  “Where’d you find that?” Snake asked him, motioning toward a spool of wire.

  “Jack got it from the maintenance room,” the electrician said. “It’s going to be close, but I think I’ll have enough.”

  “Great,” Snake said, looking around the room. Desks and tables had been moved in, along with several computers. Dustin and a petite woman with straight, black, shoulder-length hair were setting up computers at a long table. At a desk nearby, a tall, thin man named Jackson sat at a laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he stared intently at the screen. He had shaggy, light brown hair and about a week’s worth of facial hair.

  “How’s everything going?” Snake asked.

  “Good,” Jackson said, without pausing in his task. “Spencer said that he should have the wiring done within the hour.”

  “Sparky,” Snake said. “His name is Sparky.”

  Spencer laughed. “You know, that’s the nickname that every electrician gets, but I’ve always hated my name, so I’m fine with it.”

  “Well, glad to hear everything’s going well,” Snake said. “If you guys need anything, get me a list in case we happen upon the right kind of stores next time we go out.”

  “I’m not sure where to start,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Most of these computers are complete crap. I had to cannibalize a couple of them for parts, but now we have some that work, at least for the moment. It would be awesome if we could get some new machines.”

  “Can I add a few things?” asked the dark-haired woman who was helping Jackson.

  “Sure, Claire,” Snake said.

  Claire had worked as an engineer in the same office building where Dustin and Jackson had worked. Along with a handful of others, they had managed to get to the eighth floor of the building and had made a stand there. They’d been rescued shortly before the building had been bombed. The others had all gone to the shelters when the opportunity had presented itself, though Jackson, Claire and Dustin had opted to stay at the hospital.

  “Just make sure you both make it easy for us to understand what we’re looking for. We won’t be able to spend a lot of time looking for part numbers, if you know what I mean.”

  “Maybe I should come with you when you get the parts,” Jackson said, his fingers finally coming to a stop on the keyboard. “Some of this stuff is going to be hard to describe.”

  “That’ll work,” Snake said. “We’ll let you know when we go.”

  ~*~

  Yucca University Medical Center, California

  “Anything new?” Burnell asked.

  “Dr. Rayburn told me you want a DVD that he has at his office,” Hixson said.

  “Yes, and we need you to go with him to pick it up,” Bob said. “The guy is a walking disaster, and odds are he’ll get sidetracked and won’t remember why we sent him in. Can your team keep the building clear long enough to do that?”

  “We’ve cleared several buildings without a problem, so I don’t see why not,” Hixson said.

  “It’s near the Malibu compound.”

  “That should be easy compared to some of the other stuff we’ve had to handle.”

  “We want to do this now before things get worse. There’s something else we need you to do,” Bob said, hesitating as he appeared to be searching for the right wording.

  “Rayburn needs to have an accident,” Madec said bluntly.

  “An accident?” Hixson asked, certain that he must have misunderstood. He was a soldier, not a hit man.

  “Yes,” Madec said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “He needs to die.”

  Hixson looked back and forth between the two men.

  “The man is a danger to all of us,” Bob said, almost apologetically. “He has to go, Hixson.”

  “George Rayburn,” Dan replied. “Short, older guy with messy gray hair . . . confused a lot. Are we talking about the same person?”

  “We know how he acts,” Bob said, “but it i
s an act. He’s brilliant, though he plays dumb to get people to trust him. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that yet.”

  Dan shrugged. “I don’t understand why you think he’s dangerous.”

  Bob slid a folder over to Hixson. “Rayburn’s friend, Dr. Igor Petrov, is the one who sent the DVD.”

  Dan opened the folder. On top was a grainy photo of a building in a jungle. Several other pictures followed, showing the same middle-aged man in each of them. Most of them were taken inside a building that looked like a lab.

  “I know Dr. Petrov. He helps Rayburn in his clinical trials,” Hixson said.

  He flipped two more pictures over then paused to observe an 8 x 10 photo. His eyes narrowed as he looked closely at the patients who were strapped down on beds.

  “This was taken inside Petrov’s lab in Colombia,” Madec said.

  “Are these what I think they are?” Dan asked.

  “They’re infected subjects,” Madec said.

  Dan looked through several more photos that showed the infected locked in cells, their arms reaching through the bars.

  “Dr. Petrov is doing some testing on the dead?”

  “Look at the dates,” Madec said, pointing to the bottom right-hand corner of one of the photos.

  “February,” Hixson said, checking a few more. “These were taken months before the first outbreak was reported.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So Dr. Petrov was testing the infected way back then? How long has this plague been around? Has the government known about it all this time?”

  “You’re still not getting it,” Madec said. “Petrov wasn’t just studying these subjects.”

  “Unfortunately, we only gained access to these photos recently, or we may have been able to stop him,” Bob added.

  “Are you saying he’s responsible?”

  “Sgt. Hixson, we’re sorry. We know you trusted this man, and that makes this hard to take, but believe me, he started it,” Bob said. “We have recorded phone conversations and e-mails. Trust me. He did it. We can show it all to you if you want to see for yourself, but it’s going to take time, and we’re a little anxious to get that DVD. We think it may tell us the location of the vaccine, and every minute we waste means more deaths.”

  “I understand,” Hixson said, shaking his head. “How could someone do this intentionally?”

  “Since Rayburn isn’t talking, we’re hoping the DVD has some information.”

  “This is why you want Rayburn dead? You think he was involved?”

  “We know he was,” Madec said. “Dr. Rayburn has worked closely with Petrov for years.”

  “In fact,” Bob added, “we believe that they were using their patients in these trials as test subjects for this disease. I wonder just how many of these poor people didn’t even have cancer.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Dan said, darkness moving across his face. “I didn’t get to know Dr. Petrov well, but Dr. Rayburn would never have done anything to hurt my daughter. There must be a mistake.”

  “Look at the rest of the pictures and the documents if you need to,” Bob sighed. “They were both involved. There’s no doubt.”

  The next pictures knocked the breath out of Hixson. Dr. Rayburn was cutting into an obviously infected patient as he stood beside Petrov. Rayburn was talking, and Petrov seemed to be laughing at something that George had said.

  Dan looked the photos over closely then stood, shaking. He began to pace the room, his jaw clenched and his eyes cold and dangerous. “He’s a dead man,” he finally whispered.

  “We appreciate you handling the problem,” Bob said.

  “I only have one request,” Hixson said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to spend some time with Rayburn before I kill him. I have questions that he needs to answer.”

  Burnell’s eyes flicked toward Madec, who shook his head and said, “There won’t be time.”

  Bob added, “Your team’s going to be keeping that building secure, and I don’t think that you want to risk their lives for even an extra minute.”

  “They don’t need to stay. They can leave me there with Rayburn.”

  “No, Hixson, I’m sorry, but you’re too valuable to our community,” Bob said. “And you’ll be well rewarded for your loyalty. We need more men of your caliber around here.”

  ~*~

  St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing

  “I made a log so people can sign for anything they take,” Doune said to Autumn when he returned with a small stack of papers he’d just printed in the computer room. “You’ll just have to list the supplies and have people sign the log.”

  He handed her a clipboard, and she stuck the papers under the clip.

  “Good thinking,” Autumn said. “I guess that’s why you have that BHD. I’ll organize the room a little.”

  “You mean PhD, but I’m an MD,” Doune said. “Maybe you can make a sign for the door that says First Aid. You’ll just need to find some tape since mine keeps disappearing.”

  When he turned to leave the first aid room, she yelled after him through the adjoining doorway. “Am I getting paid for this?”

  “Of course. You get a free pass to the snack bar,” Doune said as he returned to his microscope in the lab.

  Autumn sighed.

  Doune turned in his chair and looked at her for a moment, as though debating something. Finally, he spoke. “You’re doing a good job, and I do strongly believe in rewarding good work.”

  He got up and spent some time in his office before returning with a hand-written document, which he handed to her.

  “This wouldn’t be legal in the old world with our child labor laws, but things have changed. Official letter of hire,” he said, handing a paper to her for her signature. “Ten dollars an hour, which is not a bad starting wage for someone with no experience. Keep doing a good job and you’ll get a raise quickly, though the money is probably worthless.”

  Autumn smiled as she signed her name at the bottom of the document. She thought about demanding cash, but decided against it. If anything beneficial had come from her shuffle through the foster system, it was her ability to judge people. She had an uncanny knack for knowing just how far a person could be pushed, and she knew that Dr. Doune was the type who wouldn’t budge. Besides, the doctor had a point. If things did get back to normal, she had the beginnings of a pretty good lawsuit for violating child labor laws. She wrote her age in large numbers so there would be no question.

  Dr. Doune raised an eyebrow as she filled in her age. “Have you ever considered going into politics?” he asked her, taking the paper.

  Autumn imagined herself in the courtroom while the judge awarded her millions of dollars. She could almost see Doune’s dry smile. Maybe she would even share some of it with him.

  ~*^*~

  ~09~

  St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing

  “Are you riding with me today?” Wombat asked Lindsey the next morning.

  “That would probably be the smart thing to do,” Lindsey said, noticing that Helga was watching her.

  “Be careful out there,” Jack said as the bikers prepared to leave. “We don’t know if the jets are still flying or not.”

  “We ain’t going far,” Snake said. “We’re just mostly doing some recon on the bikes. We’ll probably stay close enough to the building so we can hightail it back if we have to.”

  He looked at the sky. “Glad to see we have a clear day for a change. Maybe the fires have stopped.”

  While the bikes were being warmed up, a handful of those who were staying behind began to lure the dead away from the gate, finally allowing enough breathing space for the bikers to get out. The group carefully made their way down the street, dodging not only the infected but the craters in the pavement that the bombs had carved out.

  The dead were out in force on the next street, and the first bikes had a little trouble getting through. Lindsey tucked herself close to Wombat’s back as one of the gho
uls grabbed for her. She winced when a small, dead boy lunged at them, only to be flung back by the force of the bike’s momentum. There were some things that she thought she’d never get used to seeing.

  “Hang on,” Wombat told her as he sped up to race through a mass of infected that were making their way onto the street.

  Once the bikes were through, she relaxed a little and straightened again. There was a long stretch of buildings that appeared to be untouched, and Snake slowed down as they looked the area over. They found a strip mall that seemed to be intact, and Lindsey pulled out a piece of paper to make note of the stores that would be available to them. Of particular interest was a large furniture store. As they continued their scouting, she saw that there were also several restaurants still standing. She jotted down the locations, hoping they might have some canned or dried food.

  When they started to turn down the next road, they found it blocked by rubble, and they were forced to go around. They took several more side streets and finally came across a large building on a corner lot. This time Snake came to a sudden stop. At first Lindsey wasn’t sure what had caught his attention. When she peered around Wombat and saw the Motorcycle Mega Warehouse, she laughed. Most of the bikers looked like kids at Christmas, and when Snake motioned them toward the building, there were whoops of joy. The parking lot was fairly empty, and they were able to kill off the few staggering zombies with ease.

  “Okay, boys and girls we don’t know what we’re going to find here, so be careful,” Snake said. “Let’s get in, check it out, and see if it’s worth coming back with the truck. I think leather jackets and gloves would be a huge help to anybody that’s going to be getting up close and personal with the dead.”

  “It would be nice to have my own jacket,” Lindsey admitted to Wombat. “Mouse is probably getting tired of having me borrow his.”