Dayo kept the girls quiet. She’d thought it would be an impossible task, but one look out the window had been enough for the girls to retreat to their pillow fort beneath the dining room table. Mostly, they slept. They slept not to rest anymore, but to escape the waking terrors. When they did not sleep, they held each other’s hands and whispered quietly.
It was Sinjin-Smythe who gave them away.
* * *
The zombies weren’t what he expected. They moved in a phalanx. Sinjin-Smythe looked left and right. The infected were an advancing wall, like a storm front, marching toward him.
Every ghoul drooled in hungry anticipation. Blood and gore caked their clothes and their wounds oozed a thick, yellow pus. Every eye was milky and stared at him. Each cannibal ached for the taste of his flesh, a need they could feel in each tooth. Worse? They smiled, eager to feed and sure of their success.
Would the doctor be a meal, vivisected and screaming, or would they make him one of them? He turned to run.
He could hear helicopters chopping the sky, but he was sure they’d come too late. Climbing the hill, he slogged through hungry mud that sucked him down. He moved in slow motion and the zombies marched on, relentless. He glimpsed their number. They stretched out in a wall of horror to the right, left and to the horizon.
And they did not growl and scream or howl. Their chant began as a whisper that, in their millions, sounded like it descended upon him as cutting hail from a roiling sky. “Shi-va! Shi-va! Shi-va!”
The chorus rose. The zombies sang. It had never occurred to the doctor that Hell, too, had a choir. Each beat of the chant was a hammer. Each strike crushed a skull. The song was a tightening fist around every human heart.
The girls, Aasa and Aastha, ran behind him, screaming, terrified and reaching. They were only a few feet ahead of the ghouls. He could have reached back for their hands. Instead, the doctor ran on, hoping the infected would slow to gorge themselves on the children first. He hated himself for their sacrifice, but not enough to stop running.
Helicopter blades cut the sky, closer, but still too far away.
Sinjin-Smythe searched the darkness ahead because he could not look behind him. He didn’t want to see Death’s march as the damned enveloped the doomed.
Ahead, to his left, he saw a woman in a red dress, her back to him. To his right, he saw a young man he’d never seen before.
The woman he’d known as Dr. Ava Keres turned, beautiful and serene. She held an infant and he knew it was his child.
In swaddling clothes, he thought. “Ava! Is it a baby girl? Were you right?”
Ava smiled wider. Blood stained her teeth. The blood ran and dripped thickly, colored her dress and, to his horror, fed the gasping, reaching child.
Anguished, Sinjin-Smythe turned to the boy for help. His eyes were black mirrors. Sinjin-Smythe saw himself reflected perfectly. Looking down, he realized that he, too, was covered in blood.
The phalanx of the infected rose behind him in endless waves. The doctor was about to be taken and the helicopters were close, but still too far away. He could hear their chop and a chattering sound he didn’t understand.
The boy with mirrors for eyes smiled, not unkindly. “Phalanx,” he said. “What a wonderful word! Phalanx!”
Snarls rose to shrieks as the horde came upon them. The doctor could not make himself look at the agents of his death. He smelled the stink of their clothes, rank piss and fresh shit. He felt hot breath on his neck.
Sinjin-Smythe covered his ears and screamed just as the boy spoke a single word to the cannibal army.
The zombies’ march stopped. The millions, at some signal Sinjin-Smythe could not detect, fell. The infected writhed in agony, but their hungry gaze remained fixed on the doctor.
The doctor fell to his knees before the boy. He had not heard the boy’s command and, if he had, he would not have understood its significance. But he knew power when he saw it. “Please! Stop this insanity!”
“Insanus omnis furere credit ceteros.”
Sinjin-Smythe’s jaw went slack.
“Look it up.” The boy smiled.
* * *
Sinjin-Smythe ran on. He dared to look back. The zombies were closing on him again.
The girls screamed behind him with Aadi and Dayo tugging at their hands, urging them to run faster.
Desi brought up the rear, his back to the landing helicopter, choosing his targets. The Walther bucked in his hand and each time he shot one of the infected, one of the young men in a green football uniform fell.
Sinjin-Smythe felt like his brain had slipped a gear and only now was he coming up to speed with reality.
The thunder was true.
The sound of whirring helicopter rotors was real.
The agonizing feeling of running too slow in deep mud was real.
That chattering. What is that chattering? Is that real?
It was. A second helicopter swung low over the rooves of Dungarvan, circling and turning with a dragonfly’s grace. Its heavy machine gun spit shell casings as the gunner ran through a belt.
Shots chunked the ground at the feet of the infected. They did not run for cover. Instead, they reached up, numb to fear and dumb to consequence. The gunner found their range and fired into the small crowd in short bursts, chopping through bodies with merciless streams of metal.
When Aadi, Aasa, Aastha, Dayo and Desi made it to the evac helicopter, Sinjin-Smythe was already sitting inside, pale, sweating and shaking as a helicopter crewman strapped him in. Dayo climbed in and pulled the girls up as Aadi pushed. Desi climbed in last, watching his house drop away as the escapees pulled into the sky.
Dayo wasn’t strapped in yet. Instead, she threw herself across the small cabin and grabbed the doctor’s shoulder harness with one hand. With the other, she slapped him across the face. She hit him more with the heel of her palm than her fingers and Sinjin-Smythe’s head rocked back. “What was that, Doctor?”
He looked at her, his stare blank. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Please tell me what happened!” he shouted above the helicopter’s engine.
“You were sleeping upstairs in Desi’s bed! When we heard the helicopters, we started to gather our things together! You ran down the stairs screaming like a fool and out the back door! They heard you! The zombies hit the front door so hard, I thought they’d take it off its bloody hinges! We barely got out the back before they’d broken through the front!”
“I-I’m sorry! The thunder and…the sounds…it was part of a nightmare! My right brain hemisphere must have dumped all the shite of the situation into my left and I…I woke just now, I swear! I’m sorry! It was like I was asleep and I couldn’t wake up and nothing made sense!”
Dayo’s face softened. “I understand, Doctor.” She slapped him again hard, but more with her fingers this time. “But if you ever put us and those children in danger again, I’ll be your waking nightmare! Do you understand?”
The helicopter crewman, looking insectile under a massive helmet and black goggles, pulled Dayo back and guided her to a seat.
Sinjin-Smythe nodded to let Dayo know he had heard her, but he could not meet her eyes. There was something else about the nightmare that was real. His gaze settled on Aasa and Aastha. To escape the infected, he would have sacrificed them.
The Atlantic rushed and stretched underneath him, wide and deep.
Shame is bigger.
With truth, crocodile tears or persuasive lies?
Except for Desi, none of the refugees had ridden in a helicopter before. Perhaps for the little girls’ benefit, or to show off, the helo pilot swooped and dove. The girls were delighted and laughed uproariously. Sinjin-Smythe was glad their near-fatal adventure in the Atlantic had apparently not left the children unhinged. However, the pilot’s antics made Sinjin-Smythe ill.
“I’ve got to admit,” Desi said over his headset, “I thought the Irish Navy was having you on until the e
vac showed up!”
Sinjin-Smythe shrugged. “There aren’t many virologists left. And it’s nice to see the Irish and the English getting on so well and cooperating. It only took the end of the world.”
Aadi leaned in between the men. “What the doctor is saying is, he’s kind of a big deal.”
When Sinjin-Smythe began to protest, Aadi punched him in the arm and winked at the big Irish policeman. “You can tell he never hung out with the boys after football.” He appeared good-natured, but Aadi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I played golf and tennis,” the doctor said.
“That tells us all we need to know right there,” Aadi said. “The doc’s the sort who prefers books and the solitary life to people.”
“That’s quite the luxury now, isn’t it?” Desi replied.
“Lucky for us he’s so valuable!” Dayo said coolly. “Thank you again for taking us with you, Doctor. Aasa’s been on pins and Aastha’s been on needles.”
“I apologize to everyone for what happened,” Sinjin-Smythe said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
The adults stayed silent. It was Aastha who yelled out in a sing-song voice, “That’s okay, Doctor Smythe! Everybody has a bad day sometimes!”
Sinjin-Smythe smiled. “Thank you, Aasa.”
The child’s face clouded. “I’m Aastha! She’s Aasa!”
Finally, the adults chuckled.
Sinjin-Smythe tried to smile and failed. “Now that we’re on our way to safety on an English warship, I almost feel bad for the infected. Somewhere under all that disease, they’re still people. I used to hope I’d get a disease named after me. I knew Julian Sutr. Met him at conferences and spoke with him many times. I envied him. Now, he’s the most famous doctor ever and I can only feel pity for him.”
Aadi spoke into his headset mic. “Craig. Your solution is easy. Become famous for the cure, not the disease.”
“Yeah.” The virologist attempted to smile. “Sure. Easy.”
* * *
The password “Prometheus” got them aboard the English naval vessel without fuss or questions. Dayo, Aadi and the children were taken below by a Chief Petty Officer who wanted to know everything that had happened in London. Dayo and Aastha declined to tell the story of their narrow escape from the city. However, little Aasa was eager to talk about the zombies that had chased her and her near-drowning off the Irish coast.
Desi and Sinjin-Smythe were taken directly to the captain’s private quarters. They didn’t have time to sit before a fiftyish man with a tightly trimmed, salt and pepper beard walked in. “Welcome aboard the Illustrious, gentlemen, affectionately known to her crew as the Lusty. I’m your cruise director for the Reaction Force Task Group, Captain Adrian Paul. I’ve had a long talk with the captain of the Ciara about you. There are a couple of details I want to clear up before you get too comfortable.”
The doctor sat heavily. Desi stood off to the side, pretending to watch the view from the portal but hanging on every word.
“You look very tired.”
“Thank you for sending the helicopter, Captain. I wasn’t altogether sure you’d come.”
Desi turned from the portal. “Wasn’t what you told me.”
Sinjin-Smythe smiled and shrugged. “Didn’t want you to lose faith.”
“We hid for two days,” Desi told the captain. “Bachelor accommodations, tight quarters and no telly.”
Captain Paul scowled. “The Lusty usually has a crew of over 600, gentlemen. I’m getting by with 404. It was 405 last night but we lost a midshipman who has been with me for years. The Sutr-X virus has slowed but we’re still taking losses of healthy young men and women. I’ve heard the reports. Now I’d like to hear from you two, my expert and eyewitness.”
“Not much to tell from me, sir,” Desi said. “I’m from Dungarvan. Some people moved away when the first wave of Sutr hit. I don’t know what happened to them, but of those who stayed, most died.”
Paul turned to Sinjin-Smythe. “And you work for the World Health Organization?”
“Yes. The Center for Disease Control was coordinating the effort to find the key to the virus.”
“And this is your bodyguard?”
Desi chortled. “I’ll defend myself and if that helps the doctor out, so much the better. At this point in my career with the Garda, I’d rather retire to a life of loving rather than fighting.”
“And those little girls and their parents are your bodyguards, too?”
The doctor shook his head. “Dayo isn’t the girls’ mother. Aadi’s their father. She worked with Aadi. After what happened in London, I couldn’t leave them. They saved me. When the infected turn…”
“It’s like a nightmare out of a movie,” Desi said. “The doctor doesn’t like to call the infected ‘zombies’. Sounds about right to me. They may not be the undead risen from the grave, but feverish cannibals that run at you? Sharp as beach balls, they’re zombies by my lights.”
“Doctor, my information is that you’re a fugitive. I talked to a man named Merritt from Indianapolis yesterday. I must confess I’m a bit confused. He thought you were dead, or possibly a terrorist. Or married to the terrorist who let this new plague loose. He told me not to send a helicopter to pick you up.”
Desi turned slowly, taking it all in. Paul missed nothing, watching the policeman’s reaction as well as the doctor’s.
“The short story is my lab in Cambridge blew up. Merritt thought he was closing the barn door before the horsewoman of the apocalypse escaped. I tried to tell him she’d already got away. Now she calls herself Shiva and she’s a very dangerous person.”
“And she’s your wife?” Desi yelled.
“She’s carrying my child but she wasn’t my wife. Not yet. That was my plan but evidently it wasn’t hers.”
Captain Paul got up from his seat and paced. “So you’re the dupe who’s going to save the world. Not very promising. Merritt says I should keel haul you and throw you in the brig. Americans have some strange ideas about Royal Navy traditions.”
“So keel hauling’s right out?” Desi asked.
“Given the circumstances, we won’t waste resources. We’ll push you overboard and let nature take its course.”
Desi chuckled. “I’ve been around criminals of all types all my life, Captain Paul. I can assure you, this man is no Lex Luthor. Apparently, he’s got terrible taste in women, but if that were a crime, we’d all be condemned for the best memories we have, yeah?”
“Don’t worry, officer. Your meal ticket is safe. Frankly, Merritt came across as the idiot and since I’m certainly not an idiot, I’m not about to harm a virologist. We need all the virologists that are left. That’s why I sent the bloody helicopters.”
“Great!” Sinjin-Smythe mused. “A few days ago, I was a genius. Now I’m a valuable idiot.” He turned to Desi. “I’ll have you know, I could have been Lex Luthor.”
“Shaddup,” Desi and Captain Paul chorussed and broke into a grim chuckle.
“I have more questions, Doctor, and then I’ll let you have a proper meal and sleep. The Ciara’s skipper said he blew up your ride along the barricade.”
“Yes. The Shepherd of Myddvai with one crazed dentist aboard. We don’t miss him.”
“Since he almost killed those little girls and the woman, that’s understandable. What I don’t understand is how you got the password to get through the barricade. That’s high government, high military. When I asked Merritt if you had that kind of clearance, he claimed to know nothing of our quarantine precautions.”
“What are those precautions exactly?” Desi asked.
“The Lusty leads a fleet of Irish, Scottish, English and French vessels in a coordinated effort to stop and search any westbound ships. It’s my responsibility to make sure the zombie version of the plague does not spread elsewhere.”
Sinjin-Smythe straightened in his chair. “With your crew, have you seen any presentation of Sutr-Z?”
“Not exactly. I ha
d one man who was exhibiting some strange symptoms. The ship’s doctor suggested we put him ashore. But the cannibals are ashore and spreading through Ireland. It’s tearing through Paris now. We don’t know viruses, but we have scattered reports and we know math, time and navigation. We estimate the zombie virus will be in Spain before week’s end. So my question to you, Doctor: How did you get the password?”
Sinjin-Smythe took his time answering, but nothing he could make up now would sound less incriminating. “The night we escaped London, Shiva called me.”
“From where?”
“She didn’t say. She told me to meet her in New York, with all the research I’d taken from the lab.”
“Why?”
Now Sinjin-Smythe felt like the smart one in the room. “Because she wants the research, of course.”
Desi ran his hands through his hair and his face flushed bright red. “Aadi told me your briefcase went up in smoke with the dentist!”
Sinjin-Smythe unbuttoned his breast pocket and fished something out. He held up a memory stick in the shape of R2D2. “I took the precaution of taking the most important bits with me.”
“Good on you!” Desi exclaimed.
“Whatever you may think of my choice of romantic partners, I’m still an ace with a microscope. I had to make sure I held on to the raw data no matter what.”
“It’s that valuable?”
Sinjin-Smythe shrugged. “The meet in New York is obviously a trap. She’ll try to kill me for my little Star Wars friend.”
Desi let out a guffaw. “Brilliant. She wants the research and she really does want to eat your brains. What’s in it for you, mate?”
“Shiva’s pregnant with my daughter.”
This Plague of Days (Omnibus): Seasons 1-3 Page 42
