Under a Graveyard Sky btr-1

by John Ringo

  “Deep breath, mate…” Tom said, soto voce.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Durante replied, then took the shot.

  The zombie seemed to throw off the effect of the taser at first, nearly reaching Durante, then dropped to the ground, shuddering.

  “Keep up the juice,” Tom said, stepping forward. He holstered his Glock and pulled out an ampule. The auto-injector drove 15 ccs of Dilaudid into the zombie’s thigh. Then he stepped back.

  “Let up on the juice,” he said.

  The zombie, a man in his early forties and previously in good condition from the looks of him, stumbled to its feet and started to lunge for the team leader, then stumbled to its knees. In a moment it was back on its face as the narcotic took hold.

  “Tag and bag,” Tom said, pulling out a pair of flex-cuffs. “Ma’am, do you know this gentleman? Can you identify him?”

  “Never seen him before in my life,” Corinda said, still gasping for air. “He just came around the corner as I was going in the deli. I’ve been running ever since. I mean he turned the corner off Houston to chase me! Why?”

  “No idea, ma’am,” Tom said. He and Durante had already flex-cuffed the zombie and bagged his head in case he came to. As Durante started the blood test Tom pulled out a receipt and filled it out with bogus information. “If you know of anyone looking for him, please refer them to NYPD. They’ll be able to determine his disposition.” He pulled the receipt off the pad and handed it to her.

  “Okay,” Corinda said, looking at the paper. “Is he… Is he going to the Warehouse?”

  “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” Tom said. He looked at Durante who nodded. “He’s positive for neurological packet of H7D3.”

  “I… Guess I survived my first zombie attack,” Corinda said, trying to smile. “That’s something.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tom said, taking one of the zombie’s arms. “Have a nice day.”

  * * *

  It had only taken an hour to collect five zombies. Three male, two female. And they’d seen more “incidents” on the way back to the warehouse.

  “I can’t get that people are still just going to work,” Durante said, hooking one of the female’s flex-cuffed ankles into a hoist hook. “I mean, they’re walking right past other folks being attacked and it’s like ‘Whatever. Got to get to lunch.’”

  “It’s New York,” Kaplan said, bringing over the butcher knife. “What do you expect? I mean, how do you tell the difference between a zombie apocalypse and every day?”

  He drove the knife into the woman’s throat, then cut out and away. There was a spray of carotid blood that fell on the pre-spread painting tarp in a broad splatter of red.

  “Hey, look,” Durante said. “We’re making modern art. We could probably sell this in a gallery for big bucks.”

  “Can it,” Tom said. He understood. At a certain level they all really hated what they were doing. They hated that it was necessary. And they hated even more that they were enjoying it. They hated themselves. And so they joked. But if he let it go too far they might forget that they were, in fact, humans and under discipline. “Cut all the way up and back to the highest cervical vertebra.”

  “Roger,” Kaplan said, slicing further into the neck as Durante stabilized the woman’s body. The ceramic knife slid up through the muscles, tendons and arteries of the neck like butter. The cut around the spine was somewhat ragged but serviceable.

  “Okay,” Tom said, coming over. “This is the tricky bit. Gravy, hold the body firmly. Kap, get the clippers and bag ready…”

  Tom applied a sharp twist and snapped the connections at the disk, then slowly and smoothly slid the spinal cord out of the spine.

  “Don’t let it hit the floor,” Tom said, juggling the head in one hand and catching the falling spine with the other. “We want to reduce contamination.”

  “Roger,” Kaplan said, holding the lower portion of the white cord. “This I’ve never done. I mean, slaughtering pigs, yes. I’ve done that. And goats. But I’ve never stripped a spinal cord.”

  “I don’t think many people have,” Tom said, holding up the head by the woman’s hair. He tried to ignore that it was a fine, light brown. The woman was probably in her forties but she’d taken care of herself. Until she became a zombie of course. “Got it?”

  “Got it,” Kaplan said, working the cord into a zip-lock bag. He gathered the ropelike material into the bag, then snipped it at the base of the woman’s spine with a pair of bandage scissors. The last of the spinal cord dropped into the bag. “That it?”

  “That’s it,” Tom said, setting the head down on the floor and taking the bag. “See that red?”

  “Blood?” Durante said, leaning forward to look.

  “Spinal cords should be pure white or a slight yellow,” Tom said. “That red you see is virus bodies. Big bundles of millions of individual viruses. Which makes this one a winner.” He carried the bag over to a cooler, opened it up and dropped the bag on the ice.

  “Four more to go…”

  * * *

  “I assure you I decontaminated the outside before I brought it over,” Tom said, setting the cooler down on the doctor’s desk.

  “Which is why you’re wearing nitrile gloves?” Curry said. So was he. And goggles and a light respirator. He opened up the cooler and pulled out one of the bags. “Should I ask?”

  “There are people in the city who have pet monkeys,” Tom said, tonelessly. “They get zombieitis too.”

  “It’s not zombieitis,” Dr. Curry said, examining the spinal cord. “Itis refers to inflammation. Positive for H7D3, though. Zombigenic? Nobody has a really good term yet. This ‘monkey’ would be about five foot seven at a guess…”

  “And in good enough shape to chase a woman two blocks,” Tom said. “Fast monkey. Your point?”

  “None, really,” Dr. Curry said. “I’ll be doing the work in the hot zone. And I suppose that twitting the person who brought it to me is one of the stupidest possible things I could do all things considered.”

  “Doc, as long as you’re producing vaccine, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Tom said.

  “That had a faintly sinister tone to it, Mr. Smith,” Dr. Curry said, starting to suit up.

  “And if you think I’m not feeling rather sinister at the moment, Doc, you’re an idiot,” Tom said, yawning slightly.

  “I’ll keep that firmly in mind,” Curry said.

  * * *

  “Voila,” Curry said, holding up a vial from the door of Tom’s office. “Primer.”

  “Come in all the way, please,” Tom said. “That wasn’t quick.”

  It is, to say the least, a tedious procedure,” Curry said, closing the door. “The longest part as a process is separation through a medium. But I even checked the attenuation level. It’s good.”

  “I need a detailed SOP on how to produce it,” Tom said, walking over and taking the vial. He held it up to the light, then paused. “Sorry about the sinister thing earlier. We need you for more than vaccine. This is an ongoing issue and I’ve convinced Dr. Bateman that you’re definitely needed on the evac. So you’re secure.”

  “Trust you?” Curry said with a snort. He pulled out a couple of syringes. “Ready to shoot up?”

  “Very,” Tom said. “And I’m, of course, trusting that this works and isn’t going to give me the virus. Or be some odd poison.”

  “See how sinister things can get?” Curry said, pulling out a dose from the vial and rolling up his arm. “Me first. How’s that?”

  “I can think of at least ten ways this could be a trick,” Tom said, injecting the biologist. “Starting with you’ve already given yourself the vaccine and this is just water.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Curry said, shaking his head. “I take it you’re on the executive evac list? Like I want a zombie your size to go nuts onboard? How are we getting out, by the way?”

  “Depends on the situation at the time,” Tom said. “Probably helo to the airport, then jets
to the remote site. Which means I need vaccine for the pilots and crew as well. How much did you get?”

  “Forty doses,” Curry said. “Of the primer.”

  “From five…primates?” Tom said, grimacing. “That’s all?”

  “That’s all,” Curry said. “Despite the nodules being visible, there’s not really a lot of virus there. Less than rabies for example. Roll up your sleeve.”

  “Okay,” Tom said, taking off his shirt. There was no way he was getting the sleeves all the way up his shoulders. Then he rolled up his t-shirt sleeve. He held up his hand at the doctor. “Just… Gimme a second.”

  “What’s wrong?” Curry said, then laughed. “Oh, my God. Seriously?”

  “I’m okay with getting shot, knifed, blown up and shot again,” Tom said, grimacing. “Tatoos, even. I just don’t like needles, okay? Just…” He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. “Just do it quick…”

  “Said the virgin,” Curry said, stabbing in the needle and injecting the vaccine. “There, done, you big baby.”

  “Uh, uh…” Tom said, shuddering. “I hate that. I really really do. Although I hate even more that you only got forty doses.”

  “And that’s just primer,” Curry said, handing him a small black package. “More for your bully boys. That’s just the first dose for forty people. And figure on a minimum of ten percent wastage. And ten percent is low. We’re going to need a lot of…primates.”

  “We’re looking at a minimum of two hundred doses for critical personnel alone,” Tom said. “Damnit.”

  “Two hundred?” Curry said, his eyes wide. “You’ve got that many planes?”

  “You forget the support staff at the remote site,” Tom said, putting his shirt back on. “The helo pilots aren’t part of the evac but they need to be vaccinated. Nor are certain critical personnel on this end. They all know that. But they’re holding out for the vaccine if nothing else. After the primaries the next goes to pilots to take vaccine to the remote site. There’s a schedule. But a minimum of two hundred doses. Two twenty if you’re talking ten percent wastage.”

  “I’m going to need an assistant,” Curry said, shaking his head. “That’s more work than you realize.”

  “I’ll put out an ad, shall I?” Tom said. “‘Minion wanted. Must have a complete lack of squeamishness and a sociopathic personality…’ Actually, if I thought they’d keep their mouth shut, I know a couple of people in the club industry like that… No, wouldn’t work… You?”

  “Not anyone I’d trust,” Curry said, shrugging. “I mean… I’m trying to avoid thinking about what we’re doing.”

  “Saving lives?” Tom said. “Come to think of it… What do you need in the way of an assistant?”

  “Just someone with a strong stomach and good intelligence,” Curry said.

  “How old?” Tom asked. “I mean, would an intelligent and…” He paused in thought. “Would an intelligent and diligent teenager work? I know where I can get one of those that I’d trust.”

  “A teenager?” Curry said, frowning. “I’m not…”

  “I’m thinking of my niece,” Tom said. “She and her family are down lurking in the Hudson on a sailboat at the moment.”

  “Thinking of jumping ship?” Curry asked, then frowned. “Or jumping on a ship?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a back-up plan,” Tom said, chuckling. “I presume you have one. If I didn’t they shouldn’t have hired me. She’s a straight A student and she’s interested in science. And she’s closed mouthed.”

  “This is a pretty big secret,” Curry pointed out.

  “Which is going to get out, at least as rumor, before long,” Tom said. “I’ll get them in here and let you interview her. I’ll cover the specific details. That’s on me.”

  “Are you going to clear it with Bateman?” Curry asked.

  “Dr. Bateman does not need to know the details of the vaccine acquisition,” Tom said. “That way if it blows up in our face, he can sacrifice us both to the so-called justice system with a clear mind.”

  “I can just feel the love,” Curry said. “You realize you’re putting your niece squarely in the crosshairs?”

  “She can lie and say that she was just doing lab work and had no clue what she was doing,” Tom said, shrugging. “We cannot. But I’ll need to get her parent’s approval. Which means a trip to the River.” He picked up the vial and tossed it up and down. “I’m going to need the rest of this. Any specific requirements?”

  “Keep it on ice,” Curry said. “Refrigerated anyway.”

  “Get the rest to Dr. Simmons,” Tom said, walking to the door. “He has the schedule…”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Dad, we’ve got inbound,” Sophia said, ducking into the saloon.

  “Harbor cops?” Steve said, setting his iPad down. He had to admit he was as bored as the girls just sitting in the harbor. But he also wasn’t leaving until Tom called it.

  “Small fast boat,” Sophia said. “Open. Center console fishing boat I think. I only see one bloke.”

  “Rig up,” Steve said, stepping up to the cockpit. He picked up a pair of binoculars and regarded the approaching boat. It was probably just someone passing through the area but people were using sailboats to evacuate. It was just as possible that someone wanted this boat. He considered the driver as it approached. Big guy… “Stand down! It’s Tom…”

  * * *

  “You could have called Uncle Tom,” Faith said. She was still in her hastily donned body armor. “We nearly blew you away.” She took the tossed coil of line and secured it to the stanchion.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Tom said, grinning. “Sort of an opsec situation. First of all, I come bearing gifts.”

  “I hope that they don’t include the flu,” Steve said, frowning. “We’ve been very careful about protocols and I’d hate to catch it from my brother.”

  “I’m clean,” Tom said, picking up a large black pelican case and hoisting it over onto the deck of the sailboat. “And so is this. It’s all been decontaminated. And part of the gifts is vaccine.”

  “Hallelujiah,” Stacey said, grinning. “The news said that it wasn’t going to be ready for months!”

  “And we need to talk about that,” Tom said, dropping another case over the side.

  “What is all this stuff?” Faith asked.

  “More weapons,” Tom said. “Ammunition. Legal releases for holding it. First aid materials. More masks and filters. And…” he said, lifting a small cooler over the side. “The first delivery of vaccine. And now,” he said, climbing over the rail, “Steve, Stacey, we need to talk. Alone.”

  “Girls, front cabin,” Steve said.

  “Aww, Dad!” Faith said.

  “Seriously,” Tom said, pointing. “It won’t be long. Sophia, no eavesdropping.”

  “I won’t,” Sophia said, grabbing Faith’s arm. “Come on. We’ll find out eventually.”

  * * *

  “I’d accept a drink if it was offered,” Tom said.

  “What, you want to raid my bar?” Steve said, waving him into the saloon.

  “We’d better talk out here, though,” Tom said, following him in. “Stacey, I haven’t really said hello.”

  “Vaccine, medicine and ammo is the best hello you could have sent,” Stacey said, hugging him. “How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better,” Tom said, taking the offered whiskey. “I probably should have brought you some of this as well.”

  “We’re okay on it,” Steve said, waving out of the saloon. “If we start using it to pass the time we’re done for.”

  “How’s it been?” Tom asked as they sat down in the cockpit. Steve tactfully closed the door.

  “Boring, really,” Stacey said. She’d poured herself a glass of wine. “We’ve had harbor cops tell us we had to move twice.”

  “Not much pull there,” Tom said. “But the most they can do is fine you. And I’m pretty sure they’re too busy to do that…” He paused and took
another sip. “This is good. Smooth.”

  “Bushmills Honey,” Steve said. “Why are you stalling?”

  “Because I don’t know where to start,” Tom said. “What do you know about vaccines?”

  “Depends on the vaccine?” Steve answered. “There are a bunch of different ones and various ways they’re produced. Why?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “You know the thing about who you’d call to help you move bodies?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Stacey said, cautiously. “Do you need us to help you move one? Who did you have to kill to get the vaccine?”

  “Several people,” Tom said, taking another sip. He’d been avoiding drinking since the vaccine mission. “And I’ll have to kill several more.”

  “You’re serious?” Steve said. “Tom…”

  “It’s more complicated than you think,” Tom said. “And not. The easiest and fastest way to make a vaccine is through using killed virus. The only source of the virus, the only place it grows, is on spinal tissue. And the only species it infects is primates. And the only readily available primates are…?”

  “Humans,” Stacey said, turning slightly green. “Oh God, Tom. Oh good God.”

  “The excuse is that unlike rabies there seems to be no way to reverse the damage,” Tom said, taking another sip. “Once a zombie, always a zombie. And vaccine will save people like, oh, you and me and the girls. But they are, also, unquestionably human. So it is just as unquestionably murder. I have people to…help me with the heavy lifting. And sedated zombies are very heavy. But the biologist who is producing the vaccine does not have help. So I thought to where I could find someone that was trustworthy enough to not talk about what they were doing…”

  “How much do you need?” Stacey asked. “I mean…”

  “I only got about forty doses from our first run,” Tom said. “And after I said I needed two hundred doses, four hundred actually since there’s a primer and a booster, I got the estimate upped by higher. So the answer is: a lot. The general idea is to keep producing until we hit the eject bar. Or, rather, shortly before.”

  “I can…” Steve said, then looked around.