Single Tree had just been subjected to its first zombie. And if the news reports were correct, the assistant pharmacist was on his way to becoming the second.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
“You know, for a division that’s supposedly not caught up in the whole zombie apocalypse thing, Hollywood is pretty messed up,” Captain Narvaez observed as he and Reese returned from conducting a perimeter check around Cedars-Sinai Hospital.
As the day had worn on, Reese noticed that Narvaez and his Guardsmen were losing their casual, business-as-usual air. Everyone was staying eyes out, with weapons always at hand, locked and loaded. There had been some discussion about that. At first, Reese and his superiors hadn’t wanted the National Guard unit to deploy with their weapons. They were afraid that might make the wrong impression, especially since all the local television stations had crews onsite, not to mention the large assembly of bloggers and podcasters—“free-range journalists,” the cops called them. Cameras were everywhere, and the official response to the zombie outbreak was all on the record. Everything was being recorded.
The first thing the Guardsmen had to do was fortify the entrance to the emergency area. Too many vehicles and unaffected pedestrians were getting inside, prohibiting emergency crews and paramedics from doing what they needed to do. It didn’t help that there were dozens, maybe even hundreds, of medical cases that required attention. With resources strained to the breaking point, the local police presence wasn’t enough to compel the crowds to remain orderly. The Guard’s arrival helped stabilize things almost immediately. While people were willing to buck up to the LAPD, challenging armed soldiers was a different story. Peace didn’t descend upon the hospital, but order made a guest appearance, at least for a time.
The wounded and sick kept coming. Reese heard that those patients who had bite wounds, whether from humans or animals, were being kept in the crowded isolation ward. He tracked down a harried ER doctor and asked him if that was the case. When the doctor had confirmed the information, Reese asked him how the patients were being triaged.
“If they report being bitten or if we see a bite wound, that’s all we need,” the doctor said.
“Okay. How are they being segregated?”
“Isolation ward.”
That bothered Reese. Children were being brought in as well, and if they conformed to the metrics that required isolation, off they went. He made a mental note to track down a hospital administrator and find out if there was more to the plan than he had been told.
“Hey, Reese. You with me?”
Reese turned back to Narvaez. The National Guard officer stood next to him but remained eyes out, which wasn’t surprising, given that they were just outside the emergency ward entrance. Ambulances pulled in and out. There was still a lot of activity, despite the troops enforcing strict traffic control.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Reese said. “I guess things are getting out of hand.” He had to raise his voice to get the last part heard due to a low-flying helicopter thumping past overhead.
“We have to fortify our positions,” Narvaez said. “I can’t see us leaving this place. It’s too vital, and there’s too much going on. I’m going to have some sandbags and concertina wire brought in. There’s not enough security here. We have to beef it up.”
“You can’t turn the hospital into an armed checkpoint, Narvaez.”
Narvaez glanced at Reese then adjusted his sunglasses. “I want to put my guys in MOPP gear, too. Word is this infection gets transmitted through body fluids, like saliva and blood, but I’ve heard people can turn after they die, too.”
Reese frowned. “Wait a minute. I just saw on the news back at the stationhouse that only people who die from the virus turn. And if they bite someone, then that person can turn, too. But nothing about people who drop from other causes getting up to grab a mouthful of person.”
“I’ve heard differently,” Narvaez said.
“Yeah? From who?”
“My battalion commander, who heard it from a pal deep inside Big Army. So just to be safe, I want to put my guys in protective gear. You might want to pass that back to your people, so they can take some precautions themselves.”
Reese shook his head. “Narvaez, you guys start putting on space suits and gas masks, people are going to freak.”
An ambulance pulled in, lights flashing. Another stopped on the street, waiting for the first unit to clear the bay. The driver of the first ambulance hopped out and looked around a little frantically, but no one from the hospital came out to meet him.
Narvaez waved a few of his men toward the ambulance. “Guys, go see if you can help that guy out, all right?” He looked back at Reese. “So let ’em freak. I’ve got troops to protect so they can enact their mission.” He pointed at the vehicle entrance. “We need to close the north tower drop-off, so we can restrict traffic flow here. We’ll also need to set up a position outside and establish a triage center out on George Burns, so patients can be evaluated before they come into the hospital. Critical cases should be the only ones admitted. People with less than life-threatening issues should be taken care of elsewhere.”
“Captain, I’m not so sure you’re the guy who should be making those decisions.” Reese jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hospital behind them. “Let’s let those folks figure out the best way to treat their patients. That’s not the National Guard’s job.”
“Listen, Detective, you want this place to stay open? Because you need to take a look around and figure out how this is going to happen. You may not see things the same way I do, but to me, Cedars-Sinai is a cunt’s hair away from being shut down. Too many patients, not enough resources, not enough beds—”
“Captain!”
Narvaez turned as one of his troops waved his left arm in the air. With his right, the soldier kept his M4 assault rifle leveled at the back of the ambulance that had just pulled in. The soldier next to him had his weapon pulled back to his shoulder in a fighting stance. Both soldiers backed away as a third man tumbled out of the back of the ambulance. He wore a paramedic’s uniform, and his shirt was splotched with blood. The paramedic held his right wrist in his left hand, and even from where he stood, Reese could see blood seeping through the gauze compress. The driver came around the front of the vehicle and took the other man by the arm, leading him away.
“Let’s check this out,” Narvaez said, heading toward the ambulance. He pulled his M4 into his hands as he moved.
Reese sighed and hefted the twelve-gauge shotgun he had been issued. He flipped off the safety and followed Narvaez, making sure he kept the shotgun’s barrel low.
“What’s up?” Narvaez said, coming to halt beside his troops.
“Check this shit out,” one of the soldiers said.
Narvaez looked into the ambulance and laughed. “Oh, fuck me.”
A bloody woman lay strapped to a gurney, thrashing against the restraints. She had probably still been alive when the ambulance crew picked her up and must have turned into a zombie on the way in. She stared out with hollow, vacant eyes, moaning and hissing as she struggled against the belts. The zombie didn’t even seem to realize they were there. The scene was both horrifying and hilarious.
Reese’s backup, Sergeant Bates, sauntered over, carrying a shotgun. He peered inside the vehicle and grunted. “Well, at least it’s on wheels,” he said. “We could roll it back to the stationhouse and leave it in the men’s locker room. You know at least a couple of the guys will try to take a crack at it.”
Narvaez turned and looked toward the paramedics, who were standing a few feet away. The driver was inspecting his coworker’s injured wrist.
“You two! Stay right where you are!” Narvaez yelled then nudged one of the soldiers in the side. “Lopatnikov, go keep an eye on them. That guy’s been bitten, so stay sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said, not looking thrilled with the duty.
Narvaez turned to Reese. “Reese, we good to shoot this thing?”<
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“Uh, maybe we should get it out of the ambulance first?”
Narvaez shook his head. “Fuck that.” He reached up to the front of his helmet and pulled the bulky set of plastic goggles over his eyes, then he jumped into the back of the ambulance. He motioned the other soldier, who still had his M4 shouldered, to move closer.
“Narvaez, hold on!” Reese said. “We need a doctor to tell us if that lady’s really a… a zombie.”
The thing in the gurney redoubled its efforts to slip its bonds as Narvaez drew closer to it. It lunged in his direction with enough might to make the ambulance rock on its suspension.
Narvaez braced himself against the opposite side of the vehicle and shouldered his rifle. “Detective, does this thing look at all normal to you? What do you think a doctor’s going to say, ‘Don’t worry. She’s just pissed off.’?”
“You can’t just shoot her,” Reese said, but his objection sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. Watching the thing in the gurney strain madly in its attempts to get to Narvaez, he could clearly see there was no humanity left in the woman’s body. It was just a vessel, a vessel filled by a never-ending, insatiable appetite.
“Your captain said differently.” Narvaez kept his rifle trained on the zombie. “Look, you want me to let the stench go, Detective? Would that make you feel better?”
“Do it,” Bates said. “Get it over with.”
Narvaez pulled the trigger, firing a single shot into the thrashing figure’s head. The ghoul sank back onto the gurney like a marionette whose strings had been cut. There was no death rattle, no indication that a life had just passed. The corpse just went back to being a corpse.
Narvaez eased toward it, rifle still held at the ready. After inspecting the body, he exited the ambulance. He raised his goggles and slipped them back in place across the front of his helmet. There was no joy in his face, but Reese found he was suddenly angry with the Guardsman.
“So what about that guy?” Reese asked, pointing at the wounded paramedic cradling his injured wrist. “You going to shoot him, too?”
Narvaez looked over at the paramedics with a grim expression. Rifle fire crackled in the distance, and the ROVERs Reese and Bates wore squawked as police officers reported another engagement with the dead.
“Not right now,” Narvaez said. “But we’ll probably have to later.”
SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA
The afternoon was bright and hot when Norton and Corbett stepped out of the town hall building, and Norton slipped on his sunglasses against the glare. North Jackson Street was the usual happening scene it always was. An elderly Mexican couple shuffled into the air-conditioned senior center next door. Across the street, a middle-aged man was hooking up a Triumph outboard fishing boat to the trailer hitch on the back of his dusty pickup. Norton watched that for a moment, intrigued that someone who lived in a desert at the foot of a mountain range would own a boat. The man had a scraggly beard and wore faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and a straw cowboy hat. He glanced at Norton and touched the brim of his hat. Norton nodded back, and the man returned to his task.
“I guess going out on a boat is as good a response as any,” Corbett said. He waved a leathery hand about as a fly zipped around, making miniature strafing runs at his face.
“So what’s the plan?” Norton asked. In the distance, a siren wailed.
“We meet back here at eight o’clock, like Max said. Then we suffer the glares and unbelieving guffaws from the resident Indignation Society when we make our pitch.” The older man put his hands on his hips and stretched. “Damn, all this sitting is screwing up my back.”
Two fit-looking men stepped out of the black Ford Expedition SUV parked a few spaces down from Corbett’s hulking truck and Norton’s old Jeep Cherokee. Norton recognized them as part of Corbett’s crew from the airport.
“So who’re those guys you brought with you?” he asked. “Bodyguards?”
“Yes, actually,” Corbett said. “They’ll be useful when the shit hits the fan.”
“Let me ask you something?”
Corbett looked at him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Yes, Norton, I did watch Khe Sanh. It was okay, except for the parts with the dink whores. I don’t know why you left them in.”
Norton snorted. “That wasn’t it. My question is, what are you going to do if the shit doesn’t hit the fan?”
Corbett shrugged. “Probably pay a hefty fine to Inyo County, and go ahead and put in that ILS at the airport. But do you think things are going to end up fine and well, Gary? After what you saw in Los Angeles?”
Norton sighed. “I’d be surprised if everything worked out all right.”
“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” Corbett said. He waved the men away, and they climbed back into the running SUV. Its air-conditioning system left a puddle of moisture that slowly oozed across the hot blacktop. Corbett reached into his pocket, and his big blue Super Duty pickup roared to life, its diesel engine crackling lightly beneath the expanse of its hood. The truck’s AC came on with an audible click.
“Anything you think we need to go over before the meeting?” Corbett asked. “I want to head home and take a nap. Don’t sleep so much at nighttime these days, so I usually conk out for a couple of hours in the afternoon after the Dow closes.”
“You have a detailed plan?” Norton asked.
“Yes. You have a secure e-mail account?”
“Well, nothing the NSA couldn’t get into. I can give you either my production company address or one from Gmail. Take your pick”
Corbett grunted. “Huh. Send it to Gmail, and the next thing you know, it’ll be all over Google for everyone to see. I’ll trust your corporate account.” He pulled out his smartphone. “What is it?” He typed in the address as Norton read it off, confirmed it, then put the phone back in his pocket. “Check out what I’ll be sending you. All PDF files, password-protected. Password is ‘semper dash fi.’ You can remember that?”
“Semper fi with a dash between the words. Sure, I can remember that,” Norton said.
“All right, then. See you later tonight.” Corbett turned and started walking toward his truck.
“Sure. By the way, I left the ‘dink whores’ in because the cable company wanted them. People like some titillation with their war stories,” Norton called after him.
“The only people who want titillation with their wars are those who’ve never had to carry a gun,” Corbett responded without breaking stride. He pulled the driver’s door open and climbed in.
The old man backed out of the parking space and took off down the street. He was shadowed by his bodyguards in the Expedition. Norton stood there in the bright sunlight and watched as the vehicles turned right on Main Street and disappeared from view. I wonder just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into here.
Walking to his old Jeep Cherokee Chief, he dug around in his pocket for the keys. A fine patina of dust was spread across its firecracker-red paint. He decided he’d take it over to Watson’s Self-Serve Car Wash for a welcome-home bath. He slid into its hot interior, thankful that it had cloth seats instead of vinyl. After switching on the air-conditioning, he cranked down the driver and passenger-side windows. The Cherokee had been bought new in 1979 by his father, and it had been passed on to Norton in his senior year in high school. Even though it was severely dated by modern standards, Norton still felt a small thrill every time he climbed inside. It made him feel like a teenager all over again. Being forty-nine going on eighteen wasn’t so bad.
He backed out of the parking space and accelerated toward Main Street, the Cherokee’s big tires whirring across the cracked blacktop. He heard more sirens, and as he drew close to the intersection, he saw a couple of cars and a battered pickup truck pull to the right. A moment later, an ambulance sped past, headed south. Norton wondered what was going on, and a small worm of dread squirmed in his belly.
Take it easy, Hoss. Someone just got hurt in a fender bender, or something, he told himse
lf as he brought the Cherokee to a halt at the intersection and flipped on the right turn signal. After making sure the approaching lanes were clear, he made his turn and headed north up Main Street. Traffic was a bit thicker than normal, but Main Street was part of US Highway 395, an artery that ran from north to south, connecting Single Tree with Inyo County and the rest of the great state of California, so it wasn’t too surprising.
After watching LA disintegrating then joining forces with Corbett to save Single Tree from a threat he still couldn’t completely believe in, Norton found he was pretty worked up. For years, his existence had been a mostly peaceful one. There had been times of high stress—Hollywood was a shark tank, after all, not to mention going through not one but two disastrous marriages—but in the end, Norton had risen to a level in which he was finally above most of it. Secure in his career, he had made big bank, so much so that he could maintain a lavish lifestyle for the rest of his life, even if he lived to be over a hundred. He would have been content to spend his days putting together a show or two while loafing around his coastal home and building up some hours flying around the country. He led a solitary life, but he liked it that way. While he was never lacking for companionship when he desired it, Norton preferred making movies, driving fast cars, shooting guns, and piloting boats and airplanes to dalliances with women. He shook his head, wondering if he would ever be able to reclaim his old life. He almost wished Walid hadn’t called and jarred him out of his serene existence.
But then, I’d be zombie chow eventually, wouldn’t I? Despite everything, Norton knew he wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting out of Los Angeles if Walid hadn’t given him a call, and there was some irony there. He, a resident of the freest nation in the world, had to be told the truth by a man who lived in one of the most restrictive societies on the planet.
The Last Town Page 9
