Under a Graveyard Sky btr-1

by John Ringo

  “I know what I’m asking,” Joe said.

  Young thought about it for a second and shrugged.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Young said. “But that’s all I’m promising.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. “Way things are going, not sure what you could do anyway. You going in tomorrow?”

  “Not hardly,” Young said. “I’m done. There’s no way to survive this as a cop. We’re not getting vaccine, we’re not getting support and we’re not doing a damned thing to stop it.”

  “We should have quit a week ago,” Joe said, shrugging as well as he could. “I was sort of waiting for you to ring the bell.”

  “Ring the bell?” Young asked.

  “SEAL thing,” Patterno said. “When you quit BUD/S you ring a bell.”

  “Ah,” Young said. “I didn’t know you were a SEAL.”

  “Wasn’t,” Patterno said. “Guy on the team in Frisco was. Just picked up the term.”

  “I was waiting for you to ring the bell,” Young said. “Bad call on both our parts.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Young sat in silence after that, occasionally giving Joe water, for about an hour. Then Joe started to struggle against the straps.

  “Spiders!” Joe snarled. “Get the spiders off! No, no, no, nooooo, aaaaaRRRRR….”

  Young waited until he was sure, then put on a pair of nitrile gloves, pulled the Glock from his waistband and put it under the chin of his struggling partner. He pulled back carefully; you could blow a shot even at this distance, and felt the hammer give. The top of Patterno’s skull was taken off, blasting over the seafoam green sheets.

  Young unstrapped Joe’s right hand, then wrapped it around the butt of the Glock. Last, he laid both on the upper chest. It wouldn’t survive a detailed forensic examination but there wasn’t going to be one. The last forensics tech in the department had gone zombie three days ago.

  He walked out and shut the door, walked downstairs and exited the house.

  From here on out, it was every man for himself.

  CHAPTER 13

  “This place is good, trust me,” Tom said. The traffic wasn’t that heavy, but the car was still having trouble making its way. More and more double parked cars were turning up abandoned on the streets. And the Streets Department couldn’t get them cleared fast enough. Apparently, people tended to not only strip but bail out of the cars when they went zombie. At least most did. Some just flipped too fast and ended up crashing. “And it’s still open.”

  “Trust me like ‘Trust me you won’t get bitten by a zombie?’” Faith asked.

  “Not fair, Faith,” Sophia said.

  “Sorry, Uncle Tom,” Faith said. “That wasn’t fair. Especially after all the crap I got into on my own.” She stroked the Saiga she was toting and grinned. “But this time I’m fully prepared.”

  “I’m a big guy,” Tom said, grinning back. “And if you use that you’d better make damned sure you only hit your primary target and that you have a valid target.”

  “In other words,” Steve said, “don’t use it. Your ID won’t hold up under scrutiny.”

  “Spoil sports,” Faith said. “Truth is, I don’t want to take a shot. I’m still too woozy. But it’s a nice security blanket.”

  “I hope you told them that they’re hosting ‘contractors,’” Stacey said.

  “I did,” Tom said. “There were some issues to work out but it’s all good.”

  “They didn’t want people with guns?” Sophia asked. She was in body armor and full covering but had settled for just a pistol and taser. Pistol on the right thigh, taser on the left.

  “The restaurant is popular with a certain crowd,” Tom said. “The owner was twitchy because he didn’t want them getting…riled.”

  “We’re here, sir,” Durante said as the limo pulled up to an unpretentious brownstone building on the upper east side.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Faith said, opening the door and stepping out.

  “You’re supposed to let Durante do that,” Sophia said. “You’re never going to figure out how to make an entrance, are you?”

  “Let me clear the way, first, Faith,” Durante said, holding out his hand. He strode towards the door, checking side to side for threats as the driver stepped out and covered the street side.

  “The good ones rarely do,” Tom said. He was wearing just a business suit. Of course, he was also carrying under the suit. “Truth is this place is sort of used to this sort of arrival. Just not as openly armed.”

  “Oh,” Steve said. “That sort of crowd.”

  “What sort of crowd?” Faith asked, looking around.

  “Mr. Smith!” the speaker was a short, rotund fellow with a thick Sicilian accent. “It is good to see you again!”

  “Mr. Fattore,” Tom said, nodding. “I hope this isn’t a bother.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Fattore said. “We shall feel very secure, yes? Come in, come in.”

  He ushered Tom, Sophia, Steve and Stacey into the restaurant like royalty. The restaurant was long but fairly narrow with booths down the right side and tables filling the middle. It was also surprisingly crowded. The conversation muted for a moment when Faith and Durante entered, then it picked back up.

  “For you and you friends,” Mr. Fattore said, gesturing to a booth at the rear.

  Faith found herself blocked in getting to the booth.

  “Hem, hem,” Faith said.

  “You is sitting at the table,” Fattore said in a whisper. There was an empty table by the booth which would only take four anyway. He clearly wondered why he had to explain.

  “I’ll take the table,” Tom said, grinning. “This night out was Faith’s idea.”

  “We can squeeze up,” Stacey said. “You and Faith on that side.”

  “Works,” Tom said, then looked at Faith. “I don’t do inside.”

  “I’m the one with all the guns,” Faith pointed out. “I’m not sure I can slide in.”

  “Gimme the Saiga, Faith,” Durante said.

  “But what if somebody zombies?” Faith said, clutching it to her chest. “I’m really serious. I am not going through that again unarmed.”

  “And I’m really serious that it’s my job to take care of it,” Durante said, holding out his hand. “Saiga. Then you can fit in the booth.”

  “Okay,” Faith said, unclipping the semi-automatic, magazine-fed shotgun and handing it over. “But I’m totally hanging onto the pistols.” She had three. One in a fast rig and two on chest rigs. She was also, at Tom’s insistence, carrying a dual-fire taser X26 and spare cartridges. Since all those, in her opinion, might need refueling she was also carrying more ammo than Durante.

  “You can hang onto the pistols,” Tom said. “Now slide in.”

  “Smells good,” Stacey said, looking at the menu. It had been printed on paper and clearly was “this is what we could get today.” “What do you recommend?”

  “Anything,” Tom said. “It’s all good. I usually get the Frutti di Mare.”

  “I’m not sure I’d trust seafood in these conditions,” Steve said. “Supply chain is getting totally screwed up.”

  “I think you can trust it,” Tom said. “He’s got pretty good suppliers.”

  “I want appetizers,” Faith said. “And…stuff. I don’t even know what to order. All I ever get is spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Don’t get greedy,” Steve said.

  “Let her,” Tom said. “It’s on expense account. And the money’s just going to turn to electronic trash. The meatballs are to die for.”

  “How long?” Stacey asked.

  “Depends on the model you look at,” Tom said. “If we’re going to enjoy a night on the town, better make it tonight is all I can really say. Don’t ask me about tomorrow night. Pretty much it things will continue limping along and then they’ll stop. When the tipping point hits, it will cascade fast.”

  “Can we talk about something other than the end of civilizatio
n tonight?” Sophia said.

  “How bout something interesting and peripheral?” Tom said. “They’re quietly evacuating all the major art museums to an ‘undisclosed’ remote site. Basically, even if things fall apart completely, they’ll have saved all the big artworks. Ditto classic manuscripts.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” Stacey said. “I’d hate to see Titians burn.”

  “What about stuff in private collections?” Steve asked.

  “Not sure,” Tom said. “I guess if they find out and turn them in for protection, I don’t see the Museum of Art turning down a Van Gogh. Most of those ‘private collections’ tend to be associated with big corporations. And most of them have remote jump sites. We’ve already been doing that for the Board and the Corporation. I’m not sure if they’ll hold. Heck, I don’t know if the museum remote site will hold.” He shrugged.

  “How’s your plan?” Faith asked.

  “Solid,” Tom said. “Thanks in good part to Sophia. This is on expense report because of what you’ve been doing, not Faith by the way.”

  “Well thanks a lot,” Faith said. “All I did was stop zombies from taking over you building and nearly die doing it!”

  “That, too,” Tom said. “Just twitting you. Dr. Bateman said he appreciated both your efforts.”

  “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what most of these are,” Faith said, looking at the load of appetizers. Tom had basically ordered one of everything on the appetizer menu.

  “This is great,” Sophia said. “What is it?”

  “Squid in ink,” Tom said.

  “Oh, gross,” Faith said, setting the piece down.

  “Try it,” Steve said. “Just a bite.”

  “I’m not six,” Faith said, taking a bite. “Okay, it is good. I hate the texture though.”

  “Works for me,” Sophia said, trying another appetizer. “You’re right, it’s all good.” She looked around and leaned over to Stacey. “It would be better with some of the wine…?”

  Stacey slid her wine glass over and refilled her mostly empty water glass from the bottle.

  “So that’s the trick,” Faith said. “Eat it with wine and everything tastes good?”

  “Pretty much,” Tom said. “You don’t want to know some of the stuff I’ve choked down with alcohol.”

  “Monkey,” Sophia said taking a sip. “Ooo. It is better with the wine.”

  “Try sloth,” Steve said. “Which is, by the way, truly putrid stuff. Tried some on a bet one time. Helped that I was off my face at the time. Then I chundered. But I won the bet.”

  “Ate a slug once,” Tom said, musingly. “No beer involved. We’d been in the back of beyond for a bit. Looked tasty. When you’re that hungry, they are.”

  “Uggh,” Faith said. “Okay, no end of the world talk and no weird foods.”

  “It wasn’t one of the slimy ground ones,” Tom said. “Tree slug. Colorful. Looked a bit like a red and blue mobile banana. Turned out they’re slightly poisonous. Was quite ill the rest of the op.”

  “No eating red and blue tree slugs,” Sophia said, nodding. “Got it. Just in case it comes up.”

  “Speaking of which, how are you doing for supplies?” Tom asked.

  “We resupplied right after we got here,” Tom said. “Which means the boat is packed. But we should be good for a month or so. Depends on how long we spend in harbor.”

  “Not much longer,” Tom said. “We’ll be moving the girls back to the boat after tonight. We’re shutting down the project Sophia has been working on. It’s…as complete as it needs to be.”

  “Understood,” Stacey said. “And I’ll be glad to have them back. No offense.”

  “It’s been an adventure, that’s for sure,” Tom said. “I’d say sorry again but…”

  “What’s it you say about adventure, Da?” Faith asked.

  “Adventure is something that happened to someone else preferably a long way away and a long time ago,” Steve said. “When it happens it’s horror, terror or tragedy.”

  “Someday this will be an adventure,” Faith said.

  * * *

  “Okay, they’re right,” Faith said, burping as she picked at her tiramisu. “The food in New York is incredible. I should have gotten that fruit of the sea thing. I usually don’t like seafood but that was great.”

  “And this is really just a neighborhood restaurant,” Tom said. “But one of the best in the city.”

  “Do we have to go right back to the boat?” Sophia asked.

  “It’s getting dark,” Steve said. “And there’s a curfew.”

  “Which is hardly enforced,” Tom said. “Even with the National Guard they’re too busy rounding up infected.”

  “And it’s getting dark,” Steve noted.

  “Up to the parents,” Tom said, shrugging. “There are some clubs still open and I hear there’s a more or less continuous concert going on in Washington Park. More of a rave, really.”

  “Concert?” Sophia said, her eyes lighting.

  “In the dark,” Steve said. “In zombie infested New York city.”

  “I’ve never been to a concert,” Faith said, sadly. “I mean, that’s one of those things you do when you’re a teenager. The way things are going, I’ll never get a chance. Or go to prom…” She sniffed.

  “We are not going to a concert at night in a park in zombie infested New York!” Steve said. “And that’s final!”

  * * *

  “This band sucks,” Faith shouted.

  “Warm up band,” Tom shouted back. “They usually do. The good ones don’t come on until later!”

  Nobody seemed to care that the band sucked. With enough alcohol and drugs anything sounded good. And from the litter the party had been going on for quite a while. The stage was set up right in front of the Arch and was apparently powered by a collection of generators which added their own cacophony to the din.

  “No security?” Sophia asked, looking around. There was no sign of police presence and nobody was apparently in charge.

  “I guess it’s us!” Tom said, grinning. “No, this is a totally illegal gathering under New York City law. But it has sprung up so many times and there are so many other problems that they’re not bothering to enforce it. You’re here at your own risk. Which I would not suggest if Durante and I weren’t here.”

  “Got it,” Sophia said. The women in the crowd were either in large groups or accompanied by males. “Don’t drink from an open container. Don’t accept anything and for anything else I’ve got this,” she said, tapping her pistol.

  “This will probably stop any problems in their tracks,” Tom said, tapping the large BERT sign velcroed to the front of her kevlar. He’d also provided “contractor” badges for the group. The badges, on neck lanyards, read “Biological Emergency Contract Agent.”

  “What?” Sophia said, her eyes wide. “You mean the rumor that BERT vans are taking people to be made into vaccine? Nobody believes that!”

  “Just keep repeating that,” Tom said.

  Despite the implicit warning, Sophia gently drifted to the side of the group, getting a look at the crowd. Most of them were young. Her apparent age. Or maybe even her real age. The point was that you could never tell. And the whole crowd had a funny edge. They didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves as much as trying really really hard to enjoy themselves. The only ones that didn’t have that edge were the ones that, before it was even dark, were already so stoned or drunk they could forget why an illegal concert could go on in the Park without being broken up.

  “Hey,” a guy said from behind her. It was as close to a whisper as you could use with nuclear level speakers blaring. “Top quality vaccine!”

  She turned to look and the guy was holding a vial cupped in his hand.

  “I can get syringes, too.” The guy was dressed in a vivid pink rayon shirt, a Yankees jacket and jeans. He looked like some sort of walking advertisement for bad dru
g dealers. “Clean.”

  “Got some,” Sophia said. “Thanks.”

  Sophia turned fully so he could see the sign on her body armor and neck badge and just gave him a cold, blank stare.

  “Oh…shit,” the guy said, his eyes going wide. He turned around and hurried away, occasionally glancing over his shoulder.

  “Wow, that really does work,” Sophia said.

  “Hey,” a girl said, looking around to make sure nobody could hear. “Can you score me some?”

  “We don’t really make vaccine,” Sophia said, sighing. “And I don’t even work the streets. I’m support staff.”

  “What do you do?” the girl’s male companion asked slowly. He was pretty clearly stoned but trying to track.

  “Antibody tests,” Sophia said, shrugging. “Lab work. Making sure that our client’s aren’t infected. We’re contracted to a particular corporation. The rest is sort of NDA.”

  “That’s cool,” the guy said. “Hey, want some ebomb?” he asked, holding out a handful of pills.

  “You really don’t want a person carrying a pistol and a taser fucked up,” Sophia said, grinning. “No offense.”

  “You here as security?” the girl asked.

  “Nope,” Sophia said. “Just enjoying the show. Sort of. They really suck.”

  “Yeah,” the girl said. “The good ones don’t start showing up until after dark…”

  * * *

  The girl was Christine, her boyfriend “he’s just a hook-up, really, cause he’s got a source” was Todd. They were both New York natives as were their friends. The group was huddled for protection against the increasingly rowdy crowd. There was a group right down by the stage, which had created a mosh pit, which explained the fence set up to protect the bands.

  After the sun went down the band changed. It was another NYC local band but it was better. Not by much but better.

  That band changed out for somebody she actually thought she recognized, a tall saturnine guy carrying an acoustic guitar.

  “Is that Voltaire?” Sophia asked.

  “Yeah,” Christine said. She’d been hitting a bottle of Chivas Regal from the neck and was thoroughly plastered. “He shows up every night.”