The mother’s eyes widened. She shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes. “No. No, no, no,” she whispered as she pulled the crying boy back into her arms.
“What do you want us to do, Reese?” Narvaez asked.
“What do you mean?” Reese said, even though he very well knew.
Narvaez just stared at Reese and waited. Reese moved past the Guard officer and started making his way back to Bates.
Narvaez followed him. “Reese, you’re the guy who’s supposed to tell us what to do here.”
Reese spun around, suddenly pissed off. “What do you want me to say, Narvaez? Kill them? Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t want to do that,” Narvaez said. “It’s not what I signed up for. But we have to do something with them. We can’t just leave them up here.”
“I’ll tell the hospital staff,” Reese said.
“What? Why? What good is that going to do?”
“Because I don’t have any other guidance for you right now, Narvaez. That’s why.”
“You need to get some, then,” Narvaez responded. “Seriously, man. Someone has to start making some really tough calls because they’re not the only ones.” He jabbed a finger back in the direction of the mother and child. “It’s spreading, Reese. It’s spreading fast now.”
SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA
In the town council chamber, Max Booker sat with the others as they leafed through the thick binders left behind by Barry Corbett and his men. It was interesting reading, to say the least. The plans were extensive, and the materials lists were almost thirty pages long all by themselves. According to the presentation, everything had been collected and was waiting on trucks parked at various locations throughout the town. Most of the trucks were at the airport, but others had been spotted in the parking lots of local businesses. Booker had no idea which semi-trailer contained what, but he had no doubt that “product placement” was by design, not happenstance. Judging by the plans Corbett had drawn up, nothing had been left to chance. There was little doubt on Booker’s part that the wily old fox had positioned everything in accordance to when and where it would be needed.
The diagrams were works of either an inspired imagination or a detail-oriented survivalist freak. Booker didn’t think Corbett was overly imaginative, so he mentally lumped him into the freak arena. He shook his head as he read the details. Twenty- to forty-foot-high plank steel walls topped by concertina wire would be surrounded on the outside by more coils of wire on the ground, called tanglefoot wire. Inside, another set of walls would sit atop high dirt berms, from which battlements would be stationed. Trenches, ten feet deep and thirty feet wide, surrounded the outer perimeter. Inside the barriers, smaller, more modular defenses would be erected so that incursions could be contained without the rest of the town being directly threatened. Additionally, several buildings would be hardened to withstand attack: the high school, the fire station, and movie theater on Main Street. If the town’s defenses were overrun in multiple areas, people would be able to shelter in those locations. Booker scanned the list of armaments and ammunition: seventy thousand three-inch shotgun shells with Number Three buckshot, two million rounds of M855 fifty-five grain in 5.56-millimeter, two thousand LWRC International IC-Enhanced rifles, two thousand Smith & Wesson M&P 45 pistols. On and on it went, with more rifles, more ammunition, and more instruments of violence. Booker was genuinely horrified.
“Well, I see Mr. Corbett isn’t worried about violating any state gun laws, seeing as how he’s basically broken almost every one California has,” Chief Grady said as if reading Booker’s mind.
“I was just wondering that,” Booker said. “Are you going to arrest him?”
Grady grunted and shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a very smart thing to do right now, Mayor.”
“Arresting that madman would be just the smart thing to do!” Hector Aguilar said.
Booker sighed internally. Aguilar was always fuming about something. But as much as Booker disliked and distrusted Barry Corbett, Hector hated the man with a passion. Booker knew it was nothing more than childish jealousy. Corbett was the captain of a multinational corporation that generated billions of dollars of profit every quarter, whereas Aguilar’s pharmacy and the handful of rental properties he owned didn’t come anywhere near that. Aguilar lived better than most of the locals, but he was miserly when it came to giving back to the community. Booker thought it was oddly funny that the extremely liberal Aguilar guarded his earnings almost viciously, whereas Corbett, a stereotype of the conservative one percent, complete with a Gulfstream jet, was paying it forward.
“Why don’t we finish this first, then decide,” Chief Grady said.
“Yes, please,” Gemma Washington said. Her small, wire-rimmed glasses were perched low on her nose, making her look like a matronly schoolmarm.
“Fine, let’s go through the rest of Corbett’s juvenile fantasy novel,” Aguilar said with a contemptuous sneer.
It took them the better part of two hours just to get a firm understanding of the concepts Corbett was proposing. The transition to the town would be epic and profound. Corbett apparently believed that the outside world was, in essence, coming to an end, and he wanted the town to be ready for it when it happened.
Booker pushed the binder away and leaned back in his chair, trying to decide how he felt about it all. A lot of what he had just read left him terrified, while other parts seemed comforting in their sensible and rational approach. He didn’t know what to think. Did he want Corbett to be wrong? Or did he want him to be right?
He stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that was a lot to digest,” he said. “I think I’m calling for a bio break.”
“I think I’m calling for a laughing break,” Aguilar said. “Clearly, Corbett is a raving lunatic.”
Booker waved the comment away. “Yeah, we’ll get to that in a minute.” He headed for the bathroom. Grady followed him, while Gemma headed the other way to the ladies’ room.
When they returned, Aguilar was still sitting in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I don’t think we have very much to talk about, do we?” he snapped.
“Let’s try and keep our cool, Hector,” Booker said. “No matter what you think of Corbett, he is right about one thing. The world’s not a better place today than it was yesterday, and things are only getting worse.” He nodded at Grady. “Why don’t you go first, Chief? Tell us what you know about things, before we get to what we have to discuss.”
Grady settled into his chair and steepled his hands before him in that curious way of his. “Well, locally, we did have an occasion where someone turned into a zombie. And the people I talk to in the county law enforcement community have seen a lot more. There’s no cure, and even though the talking heads on the news say the virus is transferred by contact with an infected, that’s probably not the case. Like Corbett said, the government is putting that out there to try to head off panic.”
“Should we be panicking?” Gemma asked.
Grady swallowed hard. “I shot an old man who turned into a zombie today, after he tore the throat out of one man and was trying to take a chunk out of one of my officers. I’ve never had to shoot anyone before, and that alone makes me uncomfortable. But to your question, Gemma—the truth? Can’t answer for anyone else, but I know I’m panicking a little bit.”
Aguilar rolled his eyes. “Oh really, Chief.”
Grady spun his chair toward him. “Have you seen the news, Hector? Did you see what was going on in New York earlier today? I mean, now the news is fixed on LA, and that city is starting to go under. If mega cities like New York and Los Angeles can’t handle this event, how can we hope to do any better?”
“Do you mean that Corbett’s, ah, plans aren’t going to make a difference?” Booker asked.
Grady shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. But with our current resources, we don’t have much capability to keep people safe here in Single Tree.”
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Booker put his hand on the binder in front of him. “What’s your opinion on this, Chief? As a law enforcement official?”
“I think it’s audacious and not really very far from crazy. But it’s the only chance we have if things start to fall apart, like they did back east and like they’re starting to here in the west.” Grady opened his binder and leafed through a few pages. “I mean, the guy’s thought of almost everything. Construction equipment and supplies. Security. Power. Food and water. Disaster planning. Medical concerns. Pretty much everything it would take to keep two thousand people alive for a year or more without outside help. You can’t tell me the guy isn’t thorough, and he put a hell of a lot of thought into this.”
Aguilar snickered. “You know how he came about all this, right?”
Booker shook his head. “How?”
Aguilar smirked. “Corbett thought for sure that the Russians were going to start World War Three. Back in the day, when he came home like a simpering little girl from Vietnam, it was all he could talk about. The Russkies were going to blow us all to hell, he’d say. I’ll bet he had these plans drawn up thirty years ago and just saved them for a rainy day. Even back then, the egotistical maniac thought he was going to be our eventual savior.” Aguilar raised both hands then placed them palms down on the table in a bowing motion. “All hail King Barry Corbett, the divine and benevolent.”
“Norton seemed to think he was right, and he apparently saw what’s going on in Los Angeles with his own eyes,” Gemma said. “Doesn’t that make you stop and think for a second, Hector?”
“Los Angeles?” Aguilar chuckled. “Los Angeles is a loony bin, Gemma. That city’s been living on borrowed time for years. Who cares what’s going on over there? Besides, Gary Norton is a movie producer. The only thing he’s had to think about for years is wiping down his couch between casting calls with seventeen-year-old Italian models.”
Grady sighed loudly and rubbed his eyes. “Hector, I’m sorry, but you’re a raging asshole.”
Aguilar’s face turned dark. “You—”
Booker held up his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s stop with the personal attacks! We have to start thinking about everything we’ve been told and reach a decision. Whatever we think of Corbett, he’s provided us with a lot of information and a plan that he’s ready to implement. We have, as I see it, two things to consider.” Booker held up a finger. “One, is Corbett right about what’s happening in the outside world? According to what we’ve seen on the news and what the chief here has added, it seems he is as right as he could be, under the circumstances.” He held up a second finger. “And two, do we allow him to proceed with his plan? These are the only two things we should be discussing, in my mind. Everything else is superfluous.”
“I don’t know about item one, but item two—can we even do what Corbett wants?” Gemma asked. “I mean, legally. We don’t own the town, we don’t control access to it, and we don’t maintain any of the resources that come through it. Inyo County does, and where they don’t, the city of Los Angeles and the state of California do.”
“That’s just it, Gemma,” Grady said. “Inyo’s going down for the count. LA is probably already on the mat. I know the governor has called up the National Guard, but no one has reached out to my office about any assistance being developed for Single Tree. And truthfully, if we wait for too long, we might find ourselves …” The police chief struggled for words then shrugged. “Well, look, I just want you all to know that we’ll do our best, but Single Tree’s police force isn’t going to be much use against a legion of zombies.”
Aguilar rolled his eyes again. “I can tell you that at least one of your officers isn’t much use against thieving Indian boys.”
Grady sighed and shook his head.
Gemma looked at Booker. “Max, what do you think we should do?”
When Grady and Aguilar turned toward him, Booker felt the weight come crashing down on his shoulders. Of course, at the end, it would be up to him. He was the one charged with charting the town’s course, though he’d never once imagined he’d be making life-or-death decisions.
The lights flickered, and everyone looked up. They flickered again then stayed on. Booker wondered if it was a portent of bad tidings to come. He flipped through the binder once more, glancing at the elaborate plans for defending Single Tree from a million walking corpses. It was crazy. It was ludicrous. It was nothing short of completely, irrevocably insane. But it had to happen.
“Let’s go with it,” Booker said, shutting the binder. “I’m no fan of Barry Corbett’s, but I think he’s right about this… this zombie apocalypse thing, and if we can prep the town, we’ll all be the better for it.”
Aguilar sneered. “Simply ridiculous. I vote against. Let the proper authorities handle this at the state level, since we apparently can’t manage things on our own.” The last few words were delivered with a withering glare directed at Chief Grady.
Grady gave Aguilar an emotionless stare. “Well, if that’s how you feel, Hector. I second Max in this.”
“Count me in,” Gemma said. “We all know what’s going on in the world, and pretending it isn’t going to affect us is just stupid.”
“I want to go on record as opposing this action,” Aguilar said, “and I also want you to know that I’ll be contacting Inyo County authorities to report it. This will be a disaster for the town. You all do realize that maniac is talking about actually blocking a state road to prevent outsiders from passing through Single Tree?”
“Actually, that’s only one of the plans,” Grady said. “Flip to the diagram on page one eighteen. There’s an alternate plan there to wall off Main Street and build overpasses to connect the separated parts of the town. I would actually go with that one, though it still means we’d have to tear up a state-funded street while it’s in operation.”
Aguilar laughed bitterly. “With all the traffic that’s on it? All that will happen is that we’ll delay thousands of people from getting to wherever they need to go!” He looked at Booker. “Imagine the legal actions that’ll come out of that. All the indemnity claims. Can Single Tree afford this, Max?”
“Can Single Tree afford to not do it, Hector?” Booker shot back. “You’ve already made your disagreement known. Go ahead, go cry to the state and county and try to get an injunction filed. In the meantime, we have three ayes to one nay.”
“This is preposterous,” Aguilar snapped.
“No, this is democracy,” Booker responded. “We’re here in part to keep Single Tree safe, and we need to start work on that.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Meeting adjourned. I’ll tell Corbett our decision.”
###
Jock Sinclair nursed the Maserati through the night, trapped in thick traffic that seemed present everywhere he turned. Meredith sat in the passenger seat, as silent as a statue. Sinclair had no idea if she was still pissed with him after their argument hours earlier, and he didn’t give a damn. The only difference between her and the rest of the cunts he’d used was that she was an heiress to a fortune that he fully intended to benefit from. He’d smooth it out with her later. He always did. Despite her education and accomplishments in the modeling world, Meredith was one of those women who needed a strong man to give her a direction in life. Sinclair smiled smugly at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Women like Meredith were like sheep, and as a wolf might, he had always been able to sniff them out.
The check engine light had been on for almost an hour. The engine was starting to become sluggish. The Italian sports sedan was having trouble accelerating, even in traffic that moved no more than twenty-five miles per hour up Route 395. Ridgecrest was three hours behind them, and that was where they’d picked up a lot of the traffic. Sinclair had been chafing ever since rolling past the blue-collar desert town. The Maserati was surrounded by pickup trucks, big rigs, minivans, and the usual assortment of vehicles normally favored by the lower middle class, and most of those rednecked bozos couldn’t drive to
save their lives. Sinclair weaved in and out of traffic where he could, but it was rare for him to get past a top speed of thirty-five miles per hour.
Italian piece of shit, Sinclair raged impotently. If only we had an Aston! Or even a Range Rover!
Ahead, a town emerged from the scrub and desert that surrounded the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Sinclair glanced at a road sign as soon as it came in view.
SINGLE TREE SAYS HOWDY!
“Oh, dear God! Howdy? Surely California is more civilized than that, or have we somehow crossed into Neanderthal Texas?”
Meredith made a hmph noise but offered nothing more.
A glance at the GPS showed that the town of Single Tree, California, lay ahead somewhere in the darkness. All Sinclair saw out the windows was a trailer park. People sat on the side of the road in lawn chairs, watching the traffic snake past. He clucked his tongue. Such plebeian activity, as if the fools had never seen cars before.
Several people held signs announcing wares for sale: Water, $1.00. Tamales $2.50. Fresh Fruit. Vegetables. He saw that some motorists had pulled out of the line of traffic to take advantage of the offerings, and Sinclair clucked his tongue again and shook his head. The world was full of idiots, always willing the buy someone’s rusty tap water for a dollar.
Sinclair thought he heard something wrong under the hood, like a cylinder misfiring. He clenched his teeth and shifted in his seat. He glanced over at Meredith, and in the light of the GPS display, he thought he saw her smiling. Enjoying his discomfort, perhaps.
Stupid tart, Sinclair fumed.
A few miles down, the town of Single Tree appeared. The lights were still on, so that was something. Sinclair peered through his window, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Floodlights illuminated a large swath of the barren region as several backhoes attacked the desert floor with a vengeance. Three o’clock in the morning was an odd time to be doing such work.
Probably those god-awful frackers. Truly, greed knows no limit.
The Last Town Page 14
