Arnold erased each after hearing the first sorrowful note, cursing the fact that his number was listed on the capitol website. After twenty minutes of this, he ran out of messages—Beatrice hadn’t called.
“Maybe the Army’s plan might work,” he said, grasping at foolish hope. The map suggested otherwise. Forest and suburbs would be impossible to hold with only a hundred men per mile. Of course the real problem was that so far the undead had proven to be unstoppable no matter what the military had done. Somehow they just kept coming, turning up everywhere they shouldn’t.
Almost as if his thoughts had jinxed the plan before it had a chance to get off the ground, his phone rang. Hoping it was Beatrice, he snatched it up.
“General Arnold? We have a situation down at the front desk.”
Arnold rolled his eyes. “Call security.” He went to hang up but the man practically screamed his name.
“General Arnold! This is security. Please, you have to hear this right now.” The man lowered his voice and whispered: “It’s about zombies…in Hartford.”
The general’s eyes shot wide. He glanced around before partially covering the mouthpiece of the phone and whispering: “Don’t say a thing to anyone. I’ll be right down.” He took the stairs three at a time and, breathless he came up to the security desk. The general had passed by the guard every day without ever really noticing him. Now he looked close and saw a septuagenarian, straining to see through coke-bottle glasses. Next to him was a doughy, pallid, middle-aged frump of a man who was in a literal lather, his face dripping with sweat.
“I saw them!” the man said when the general was still twenty feet away.
Arnold grimaced and glared the man into silence, before pulling the guard aside. “I’ll take care of this. Make sure you keep your lips sealed, got it?”
“Loose lips sink ships,” the guard said and then mimed locking his mouth shut, going so far as to “throw” away the key with a little gesture.
“Loose lips also will get you brought up on charges of treason,” Arnold replied in a hard whisper. “You will tell no one, got it? If you do, you’ll start a panic.”
The guard nodded emphatically. “You can trust me, sir. I was in ‘Nam. I know about operational security. I know what it meant to the front line troops when…”
“That’s great,” the general said, interrupting. “Now, stop talking and listen. When I say no one, I mean even the governor. That woman is extremely flighty if you know what I mean. Very high-strung. We don’t know what she might do, so no matter what, keep this to yourself.”
Arnold clapped the guard on his bony shoulder and turned him away before addressing the civilian. “I’m General Arnold, thanks for coming in.” He stuck out his hand, but then pulled it back, quickly. There was no telling where the man had been and what he had touched. “So you saw something? Can you tell me about it without raising your voice? You don’t want to make matters worse by causing a panic, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Jerry Byrne said, keeping his voice pitched at a conspiratorial level. “I saw a bunch of them. You know, zombies. There was a whole pack of them right by Quaker Street and Fern. They were all covered in blood and there was black stuff coming out of their eyes. And they were eating someone, this old lady. It was disgusting and—and I knew I had to tell someone, so I came straight here.”
Jerry’s short narrative struck the general like a kick in the stomach and yet he smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were wide and crazy. This was exactly what he had feared would happen. This was exactly why he needed his boat. “Quaker and Fern?” he asked.
“It’s a mile and a half west of here. I was going to get some gas, just in case, you know, when I saw…”
Again Arnold interrupted him. “Okay, I got it. Forget the gas, and forget you ever saw those zombies. For now, I need you to go home. Take a different route. Don’t go searching for them. I’ll have a platoon of soldiers hunt them down and burn their corpses, but to be on the safe side, go home, stay home and lock your doors. It is your patriotic duty not to tell anyone. No one, do you understand? If you do, this city will self-destruct and it’ll be on your head.”
Jerry swore on his mother’s grave that he would keep the secret, and when he left, General Arnold ran back up to his office. He had to call Washington with an important question he hadn’t bothered to ask before. “General Heider? Hello, this is General Arnold in Hartford. I have a quick question concerning the remnants of the 42nd that are surrounded west of the city. You hadn’t mentioned them specifically and I had assumed that the paratroopers were going to link up with them.”
Actually, he had assumed the opposite—he figured that they weren’t going to be rescued, but now that there was a zombie sighting in Hartford, he needed to hear it for himself.
Right off the bat, Heider confirmed Arnold’s suspicions by sighing. “No, sorry. We have no way of knowing the level of contamination those soldiers might have faced. They are to remain within the boundary of the Zone until such time as it can be scientifically proven that they will not be a threat, biologically speaking, that is. But don’t worry about them. We’re going to make sure they’ll be resupplied.”
“By helicopter?” Arnold asked, thinking that if Beatrice was dead or the boat sunk, he might be able to slip out of the city on a helicopter.
“No, too much risk,” Heider answered. “Helicopters are no longer allowed to even fly over the Zone. Now, please don’t say anything to anyone just yet. It’ll hurt moral and…”
Arnold stopped listening. His eyes were on the map, and his mind dwelled on escape. His worst fears had just been confirmed. If it was found out that there were zombies in Hartford, the army would move the parachute drop east to encapsulate the city, trapping a quarter of a million people in a new and ever expanding Zone.
He knew what would happen then: Hartford would become a breeding ground for zombies. A quarter of a million of them.
“Thanks, sir,” he said, and hung up on Heider. The proper, noble thing to have done would have been to gather a squad of men to hunt down the zombies. But in Arnold’s mind that was only putting off the inevitable. Without another word, he left his office, the building, and the city.
At the wall he used his rank to bully a bolt-action 30-06 and a Jeep Wrangler from a patriotic citizen. Without looking back, he sped south to the ocean, leaving Hartford in the hands of fate and one seven-year-old demon child.
2—The Connecticut Bubble
In complete defeat, Courtney Shaw pushed back from the folding table where she kept her radio and satellite phone hot from use. She shook her head at Dr. Lee, who had just slipped in through the tent door, asking the same question she’d asked every hour: “Where are the helicopters?”
“It’s not going to happen. There isn’t a single military helicopter available. I just found out that they’ve all been pulled for some big operation.”
“What about civilian helicopters?” Thuy asked. “Or perhaps medical ones? Certainly you can scrounge up one or two of those? I know you…” A smattering of gunfire outside the tent stopped her. The noise of battle grew in intensity and then faded.
Courtney shook her head again. “No civilian ones either. The military has nationalized every airstrip for five hundred miles outside the Zone. I’m sorry, but we can’t do anything for them. But…but they have Deckard. He’s a tough one, Thuy. I thought some of the state troopers were hard guys, but Deckard is like a rock. He should be fine…they all should be,” she added, thinking of Max Fowler.
“We should be worried about ourselves,” April Lopez said, earning herself a sharp glare from Thuy. “So sorry about your boyfriend, but we’re just as fucked.” The other operators began nodding, glumly. Everyone in the tent knew about the impending paradrop and what it meant.
Using her wiles, Courtney had discovered the exact time and location of each of the twelve drop zones—the new boundary of the Quarantine Zone would be five miles to the east of them.
It meant that once again they would be trapped. The news had cast a pall over everyone except Thuy, who acted as though only saving Deckard mattered.
“I wish I could help,” Courtney said to her. “But I can’t. I swear…but…but maybe you can help us. Maybe you can figure a way out of this.”
“A way out?” Thuy’s eyes were gritty and her brain felt slow. She was mired in feelings that weren’t normal for her: depression, guilt, sadness, and fear. Instead of dwelling on the present or a possible future, she had been reliving her mistakes, and there had been quite a few.
“Yes,” Courtney said, and then explained what she had learned. “I was thinking that if we hurry, we could get across the new line of the Zone before the jump happens. The only problem is that Colonel O’Brian is sticking to his guns. He won’t retreat without orders and General Arnold isn’t answering calls anymore.”
“Have you spoken to O’Brian in person?” Thuy asked.
Courtney shook her head. “No. He won’t see civilians. He says he doesn’t have time for us.”
Thuy stifled a yawn and said: “I’ll talk to him; however if he won’t listen to reason, then it only makes sense that we try to leave on our own. Gather all the weapons and food that you can carry. A radio too, would be good.”
“We can’t,” April said. “We aren’t allowed out of the perimeter.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Thuy said, again and then stepped out of the tent, letting the early morning sun strike her as she took a deep breath. Even with the possibility of being trapped once more in the Zone, Deckard was still foremost on her mind. He had been out in the wilderness for over five hours now and she could imagine a thousand terrible things that might have occurred.
Still, she had some hope. The sun had only recently risen on the hill, showing the utter destruction that the waves of Apaches and Blackhawks had unleashed on the zombie horde the night before. It was a horrible sight and yet it was also a sight that had filled the entrenched soldiers with relief.
Bodies lay in heaps and mounds and black blood flowed into pools that resembled pools of tar.
Some of the creatures were still alive and there were more straggling up out of the woods, but their numbers were few and the obstacles between them and the top of the hill were many. Now with the sun climbing higher into the sky to light the battlefield, the soldiers could kill the beasts at safe distances.
With giddy smiles that showed how happy they were to be alive, the soldiers relaxed on the lip of the hill and took turns “popping the stiffs.” Ammo was dangerously low; however it appeared that it would last.
“It could be the same for Deckard,” Thuy whispered. It was all the hope she would allow herself. Pushing him from her mind, she straightened, and went to the command tent, where a soldier stopped her from entering. All of the soldiers were armed and yet this man’s M4 seemed more “present.” He was tense and his finger was actually within the trigger guard. That seemed strange and unprofessional even to Thuy.
She gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile and said: “Hi there. My name is Doctor Lee. I’d like to see the colonel, please.”
“Sorry, military personnel, only.”
“I understand, but this is a matter of some urgency of…of a scientific nature, so if you will simply…”
The soldier stepped forward, aggressively, making Thuy feel even smaller and weaker than she was. “I said no. The colonel’s orders were very specific: No civilians at all. Period.”
“Of course, of course, sorry,” she said, backing away with her hands up. She took two steps too many and knocked into another man, making her jump. Even before she turned, she could smell two battling odors: whiskey and sweat.
It was John Burke, looking wary, his blue eyes at squints, his sandy blonde hair sticking up like a rooster’s comb. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why y’all wanna see the Big Boss? Somethin’ bad comin’?”
Thuy gave a quick glance around and saw that there were too many people nearby. She pulled him away from the tent so that she wouldn’t be overheard. “There’s going to be an airborne operation designed to establish a new defensive line. Unfortunately, they are dropping five miles east of here. It will put us on the wrong side of the perimeter of the Zone.”
“Ah shit,” Burke said, rubbing a hand over the stubble of his chin. “When’s it happenin?”
“In an hour or two. We have enough time to pick up and move to safety, but only if we hurry. The problem is the colonel who took over after General Collins died is refusing to disobey orders. I need to see him. I need to talk some sense into him, but he won’t see civilians.”
John blew his whiskey breath over Thuy as he sighed dejectedly. The two of them were quiet for a few moments as they looked around at the hilltop. Suddenly Burke snapped his fingers and said: “You know whatcha could do? Y’all might could get dressed up like one them soldier boys. They ain’t got a fuck-all clue who’s runnin’ about this camp and there is some girl soldiers, you know. That’s right. Get yo-self some girl camouflage and then just tell ‘em you’s a major or sometin’.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That is a smart plan, Mr. Burke.”
“Y’all don’t need to sound so surprised. We gots schools and such in the south, you know.”
“Of course, sorry,” she said, absently, her eyes scanning the perimeter, looking for one person in particular. “There she is! If you’ll excuse me Mr. Burke,” she said and then tromped away, not realizing that Burke followed along after. Thuy was entirely focused on PFC Cindy Austin.
She stood with a group of soldiers, one of whom was taking careful aim at a straggling zombie. Ammo was so low that Thuy waited for him to pull the trigger before she approached the group.
“Miss Austin, if I can have a word.” Somehow, Thuy had retained her beauty despite a day of hard fighting and scrambling over half the state. Her golden tan was unmarred and her silken black hair still full of shine. Cindy was immediately self-conscious, knowing that she looked bedraggled at best.
“Yes?” she asked, touching her own hair. It felt like a mop and she attempted to smooth it down.
Thuy pulled her aside. “I need your clothes,” she said and then explained what was happening. “I won’t tell anyone where I got them, you have my word.” After the last harrowing twenty-four hours, Cindy was easily persuaded. They changed in the communications tent—at least Thuy changed.
Although Cindy wasn’t fat by any measure, she couldn’t match Thuy’s elegant form and had to settle with wrapping herself in a woolen blanket. “Are you just going to try to march right in there?” she asked, Thuy. “Cuz, I don’t think that’ll work. He’s going to know right off the bat that you aren’t real military. For starters, no one looks like you.”
“It’s not something I can help,” Thuy said, and now it was her turn to touch her black hair, self-consciously. “If only I could find a helmet or a hat.” In their mad head-long retreat, helmets and backpacks had been some of the first things jettisoned by the soldiers.
Cindy had hers, along with all the rest of her gear, but she didn’t think it would help Thuy. Only deception could. “Maybe with the help of these ladies and some of the soldiers on the front line, we can get you in to see the colonel.” Cindy quickly outlined her plan and in seconds the dispatchers rushed out to find any officer they could in order to explain that there was a “meeting” in ten minutes with the new commanding officer.
Courtney hurried to where Cindy had last seen Specialist Jerome Evermore and dragged him back to the communications tent, where he stood uncomfortably eyeing Cindy wrapped in her blanket.
“You want me to cause a distraction?”
“It’s just one guy,” Cindy assured. “And only long enough for Dr. Lee to get in to see the colonel.”
Jerome’s stomach had begun to ache at the idea of being trapped within the Zone. Things seemed okay at the moment, but there was no way of knowing how long that would last. Experience had taught him that things could cha
nge in the blink of an eye. “Ok, sure. Just point me at the guy and tell me what to do.”
His part was simple. When the last of the officers went into their “meeting” he would approach the guard from the right, talking to him and focusing his attention long enough for Thuy to scamper around the side of the tent and slip inside.
He almost wasn’t needed. Three officers: two lieutenants and a captain were given access by the guard, who had no reason to stop them. Seconds later, someone from inside the tent began yelling at the top of their lungs: “Who the fuck let you in here?”
“Oh shit,” the guard whispered. He glanced back, wondering what was happening and what kind of trouble he was about to get into. A second later, a soldier tapped him on the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Jerome asked, trying to look the guard square in the eye. “It sounds like someone is getting reamed out in there. I’d hate to be the person who is on the receiving end of that shit storm, if you know what I…” He paused as the Asian woman he was trying to help calmly walked around the corner of the tent and slipped in as if she ha every right to be there. “Never mind,” Jerome said and turned away, heading quickly for the communications tent and ducking inside.
He found the four civilian women and PFC Cindy Austin huddled at the door peeking out. “That was easy enough,” he said, trying to sound like a cool customer, although he could feel sweat dripping down his back. He was sure that he had broken all sorts of military laws, and he knew that the army had never been easy going on criminals.
Thuy was feeling the same sweating sensation. The air in the tent was hot and close. She had expected there to be maps spread out on tables, and computers glowing, and phones humming, and perhaps even little figurines representing different units. In reality, the tent was shrouded in gloom, making everyone seem shadowy and a little scary.
The Apocalypse Crusade 3: War of the Undead Day 3 Page 8
