Sinjin-Smythe shrugged and nodded. He didn’t tell her how much he loved golf.
“It’s not what I expected,” Dayo said. “You said Dungarvan was a beach resort.”
Dr. Sinjin-Smythe nodded. “Ava mentioned it had a startling lack of palm trees and hammocks for a vacation destination. I couldn’t afford Barbados, so Ireland it was.”
“When were you here?”
“A couple of years ago. Feels like it was millennia ago and happened to another person.”
Aadi appeared at the hatch. “Safe to come up? The girls want to go ashore.”
Sinjin-Smythe shook his head. “We don’t know how far and fast the contagion has reached yet. On deck is fine, but you better let me and Dayo check out Dungarvan for supplies.”
Dayo shook her head. “You and Aadi go, Doc. The captain and I get along fine, but he needs some space apart from Aadi. Give him some more time to grieve his wife.” She turned to Aadi and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go fast, come back quicker. The girls will be fine with me.”
Aadi held the big woman’s eyes for a moment and murmured, “Of course they will.”
“Bring chocolate.”
Sinjin-Smythe called to Dr. McInerney. “What do you think we need for the voyage, Captain?”
“It’s the end of the bleeding world. We need everything!”
Aadi quirked an eyebrow at Sinjin-Smythe. “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”
* * *
Aadi ran ahead of Sinjin-Smythe. When the doctor caught up to him, a bent, white-haired fellow was already handing car keys over to the little man. Aadi waved him into a blue Skoda parked nearby. “We’ll be back soon! Thank you so much!”
The old man waved and turned to walk back into the clubhouse.
Sinjin-Smythe looked in awe at the former Harrods guard. “I was going to throw some weight around. I still work for the CDC as far as I’m concerned. I thought — ”
Aadi gunned the engine and the tires spit gravel as he took off up the Goldcoast Road. “Craig. Your plan was to run to somebody at random and start screaming about the zombie apocalypse?”
“Well, when you put it that way…what did you say to the old man?”
“I told him my little girl was in diabetic shock and needed insulin. He didn’t hesitate to give me his keys. Good chap.”
Sinjin-Smythe blinked hard and smiled. “He fell for that? Why wouldn’t we call an ambulance or at least show up with a kid to take with us?”
It was Aadi’s turn to smile. “I worked as a security guard, Doctor. When you’re dealing with shoplifters, you don’t give them time to think straight.”
“Looks to me like you picked up a few things from the thieves.”
“Yes, no, maybe so.”
“Take a left ahead.”
* * *
The garages they passed displayed signs reading: Out of Petrol. The farther they went into town, the more uneasy Aadi and the doctor became.
Sinjin-Smythe directed Aadi toward the town’s heart. Aadi slowed, searching windows. No curtains moved. Cars were parked neatly at the side of the road.
“It’s a ghost town. You know those stories of little villages that people left, all at once, with half-eaten plates of food still on the table? Happens again and again through history. Some big towns, too. No one knows why the people ran. It’s as if they got sucked into space. That’s what this feels like. Where did you stay when you were here?”
“Lawlors Hotel.”
“Sorry we don’t have time for a trip down memory lane, mate.”
Sinjin-Smythe looked away. “I’m not sorry.”
Dungarvan’s Grattan Square was almost empty. One man stood in front of the Tavern Restaurant.
The man stood stiffly and he wore a dark blue uniform with the word “Garda” in white lettering across his chest.
“Great,” Aadi said. “That’s the last thing we need. A copper.”
“Can I start screaming bloody murder about the World Health Organization and zombies now, please?”
“Yeah. That’s what it’ll take. Hit the whole impossible mission to save the human race thing hard.”
“If that doesn’t work?”
“Then I’ll have to hit him over the head with something heavy.”
“I shall attempt to be my most convincing.”
Aadi uttered a strong Yoda impression. “Do or do not. There is no try.”
The policeman appeared at the window beside Sinjin-Smythe. His sidearm, a Walther 99c, was pointed at the doctor’s head. “Iasan Bell called. He said a couple of Brits made off with his car and the Garda should be on the look out. And here you are.”
Aadi looked to the doctor. “I guess the old man had some time to think it through.”
Sinjin-Smythe shook as he stared down the barrel of the pistol. “Shite.”
* * *
Aastha shook Dayo awake. She sat up in her bunk fast, gasping in surprise. A glance at the six-year-old told Dayo something was wrong. “Where’s Aasa?”
Aastha began to cry. Dayo leapt up. “What’s happening? Where’d your sister go?”
“She’s upstairs.”
Dayo made for the hatch. It was locked from above.
“McInerney! Dr. McInerney! Let us out! What’s going on?”
The boat’s engine rumbled to life and Dayo had to grab Aasa’s empty bunk to avoid losing her balance.
Aastha squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands over her ears. The little girl called for her big sister in a chant that was a despairing prayer. “Aasa! Aasa! Aasa!”
Dayo felt as if she had swallowed a burning stone. Above, she could just make out a sound she did not want to believe: Dr. McInerney’s cackling laughter. She wasn’t sure. Maybe he was crying, too.
Dayo gritted her teeth so hard it hurt. If McInerney harmed the little girl, Dayo would make him beg to die. She would allow him to believe she’d kill him. Then she’d make him plead harder for death’s sweet release.
Season 2, Episode 2
This Plague of Days
Robert Chazz Chute
Season 2
Episode 2
Each road we take narrows our options until there is only one choice.
*
“Your argument makes sense if you accept the supposition that everyone’s an idiot but you.”
“If you aren’t all idiots, how did we get here?”
*
Civilization is short. Somewhere out there, an alien is looking at the stars wondering if there’s intelligent life in our galaxy.
We know the answer. We had a brief shot at escaping to the stars and living forever. We blew it.
~ Notes from The Last Cafe
*
“So spake the Fiend…”
Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 393
*
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
~ William Shakespeare, Henry VI
Adam is the first of the worst
The doctor’s voice shook. “I’m a virologist working in cooperation with the World Health Organization. My name is Dr. Craig Sinjin-Smythe and if I don’t get to New York soon, my baby will die. If I don’t get to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, everybody dies.”
The policeman’s eyebrows shot high. He stared at the doctor for a moment before holstering his weapon.
“Well. That was easy,” Aadi said.
The cop made a sour face. “You fellows have cocked up your job so badly, it’s obvious you aren’t smart enough to be a couple of hardened criminals.”
Sinjin-Smythe almost laughed. “Have you heard what happened in London?”
“Everybody’s heard who still has a working radio and a government that allows them to use it. By the looks of you, you have stories to tell.”
“We do,” Aadi said, “but can you help us pilfer some supplies so we can go save the world from the zombie menace?”
The cop didn’t hesitate. He opened the
car door and pulled Sinjin-Smythe from his seat. “C’mon. I’ve been working on that very thing. We have to hurry. This new disease, whatever it is, is in Dublin. Been speaking with some friends. They’ve been pulled into emergency service. No one knows how it’s spreading so fast, but it’s happening. It’s every paranoid fantasy come true.”
“We’re going to need a lorry,” Aadi said.
“Already grabbed one. My boat’s down the way at Davitts Quay.”
Aadi got out of the car. “My name is Aadi Vermer. Can we break into that sweets shop, please? I have two little girls and if we’re going to bounce across the Atlantic, we better have chocolate to keep them happy.”
“Desmond Walsh.” They shook hands. “Call me Desi. And yes, Aadi. Grab your sweets, but hurry.”
“Where is everyone? Are they all dead?” Sinjin-Smythe asked.
“I’ve served in the Garda thirteen years, most of it here, so I can name most of Dungarvan’s dead. I don’t know what happened to those who fled north. It’s a lovely Sunday morning, so what few are left are either cowering in houses in Gallows Hill — they’ve fortified the area with cars to keep everyone out — or they’re in church. A few people are still in St. Vincent’s Hospital but everyone in St. Joseph’s died.”
“I’m sorry,” Sinjin-Smythe said. “That level of loss in a town this size? Devastating.”
“The old people went first. We became a town of wakes. Lots of empty words spoken over the dead. Turns out, when you string too many wakes together, it sucks the fun out of them. ”
“You still have a working hospital?”
“There’s a nurse run off her feet,” the police officer replied. “She refuses to give it up, but I don’t think she’s got so much as a tongue depressor and a bandage left up there.”
“How many left the town?”
The officer shrugged. “Early on, the local doctors referred all cases of flu down to the hospitals in Youghal, Cork and Limerick. They shipped a lot of patients out of town, at least until the ambulance drivers died.”
Sinjin-Smythe found he didn’t know what to say so he listened.
“If not for the first wave, we’d be dealing with these new beasties differently. I’m told there may be a counterattack to try to take London back, but if it’s in Dublin already, that sounds like a pipe dream.”
Sinjin-Smythe marveled at the policeman. “You seem remarkably composed.”
Walsh put a big paw on the doctor’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Not at all. I’ve had a lot of time to think, what with everyone dying around me. The flu took the first fifty in less than a month and I’m still wandering these streets, checking doors and pulling out corpses. I’ve been living on warm beer and I haven’t even had a cough or a sniffle.”
“Remarkable.”
“Remarkable, but not good. My few mates who are still alive have made preparations to fortify or escape. I’m late to the party. They all tell me the same. Hunker down and bar the doors or get out and away. I’m not abandoning my post, Doctor. My post abandoned me.” There were tears in Desi’s eyes.
Sinjin-Smythe didn’t hesitate to ask, “Care to come with us to New York?”
Desi shook his head and smiled. “Instead of me going with you to New York, I think you better come with me to New York. From what I’ve observed, you and Mr. Vermer couldn’t find your arse with both hands, a map and a strong hint.”
The doctor managed a smile.
“You mentioned that if we don’t get you to New York, your child will die. That sounds like a noble cause. I like those.”
“Good. I’ve seen the infected up close, Desi. We need someone who can help with security.”
“I was hoping you’d need me to do the drinking and idle chatter. There are no zombies in New York. That’s why I’m up for the quest.”
“Ah.”
“However, you should know, Atlanta is burning. I should say Atlanta is burning again, if I recall Gone with the Wind correctly.”
“Even the CDC’s gone?”
“That’s where it started. A big explosion apparently. Terrorists, maybe. Anarchists taking advantage of civilization when it’s already down for the count.”
Sinjin-Smythe was speechless.
“Do you have an alternative destination after New York, Doctor? For the saving the human race part of your plan?”
“Uh…”
“Oh, dear Jaysus!”
“There’s a lab in Canada.”
“That’s one option. There might be a better one. My mates say the Yank scientists have a new research laboratory guarded by the last chunk of US military. Last on land, I mean. I assume the navies are splashing around, relatively safe but wondering what to do.”
“How do you know all this?”
“My uncle’s Deputy Commissioner for the Garda Síochána. He’s helping to coordinate Ireland’s emergency response. The trouble is, our forces are so depleted, there isn’t much left to respond with.”
“Do you get your news from anywhere else?”
“I used to listen to ham radio, but that’s bad for morale. BBC’s gone. I’ve heard a few grisly, eyewitness reports about the zombies from a Dublin radio station. Internationally, Al-Jazeera is still somewhat operational and getting some news out. They had plenty of Hazmat suits on hand, apparently. That’s where I heard about Atlanta.”
Sinjin-Smythe once attended a contingency plan meeting for CDC containment breaches. He’d never taken those virus war games seriously, but he remembered a detail now. “The backup lab. Is it Camp Pendleton?”
The Garda officer pulled out a notebook and flipped through several pages. “No,” he said. “They’re working out of a huge refugee camp. When the cross chatter is loose on the ham, they call it The Last Stand.” He flipped another page. “I don’t know where it is precisely. Somewhere in the middle. On the radio, they mostly use the codename ‘Brickyard.’”
* * *
The police launch in Davitts Quay was cramped, but it had twin engines and it was fast. Desi pointed the boat toward the Goldcoast Golf Club and opened the throttle. The Shepherd of Myddvai wasn’t where Aadi and Sinjin-Smythe had left it.
Aadi scowled. “What’s McInerney playing at?” he scanned the shore frantically. “Aasa! Aastha! Dayo! Where are you? Aasa! Aastha!”
The policeman scanned the water and blasted his air horn three times. A fog bank had rolled in, obscuring visibility beyond a hundred yards. “He’s not anchored offshore. Where would he go?”
Sinjin-Smythe’s brow furrowed. “Surely, you don’t think he took off without us?”
“It’s kidnapping!” Aadi pounded the gunnel in frustration. “He has no supplies! The idiot is headed back! This is his stupid vengeance! He’s headed east! Back to London! Gun it, Desi!”
The cop slammed the throttle forward again. The bow rose out of the water as the engines roared and the propellers dug in. The policeman shouted above the din, “There’s nothing for anyone in London now! He’s a fool to go back without an army!”
“He’s an idiot, either way! He blames me for his wife’s death!” Aadi cried. “He’s snapped!”
They cleared the bay and Desi turned the launch’s nose east. “I can see you’re upset about your daughters, but I expect you’ll explain the killing his wife part along the way, yeah?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Sinjin-Smythe said.
“I did a bad thing,” Aadi said, “but it was the right thing.”
As the Red Queen rises
Mrs. Bendham opted to stay with the van. “I’ll be fine. I’d rather stay with my things. Besides, with me in here, you won’t have to worry that these soldiers will take our food and run around with your daughter’s panties on their heads.”
Anna rolled her eyes but said nothing.
“We need to rest and find out what’s going on,” Jack said. “I’ll warn them about Carron. We’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“You should give me the key to the van in case I have to
move it for some reason.”
Jack removed a key from her key ring and handed it to the old woman.
Key rings are so quaint, she thought. I still have my house keys and, somewhere in the ashes that was once my house, there’s a lock for my key. If not for Oliver and Carron and men like them… Jack stopped there, knowing that if she allowed herself to think on her losses, she’d begin to cry and she would not stop for a long time.
At the west gate, the Spencers were stopped so two soldiers in Hazmat suits could go through their backpacks. They were wanded for weapons before shuffling forward in line. The line was quiet since everyone had given themselves over to the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that doesn’t bear expending energy to complain. People shuffled and limped.
Jaimie contented himself watching auras. The people who had arrived by car or truck were obvious. Their feet didn’t hurt. Many were bent from back pain.
He surmised that at one time the refugees had tried to carry too much weight. The apocalypse did not tolerate nostalgia. What had once been considered necessities had been abandoned by the side of the road.
Jaimie watched the corona around each refugee’s head. No matter what dangers lurked in their bodies, their crown chakras were always busy trying to sort out each individual’s place in the world before their exit. He felt sorry for them. Such struggle cried out for pity.
Theo Spencer stood nearby, studying his son. “To quote Mark Twain, ‘The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.’”
The boy gave one of his tiny nods. His gesture of acknowledgment was so small, only family would recognize it as agreement.
This Plague of Days (Omnibus): Seasons 1-3 Page 38
