by Steven Booth
“Penny?”
Miller heard Scratch from far away. She was unable to respond. Crews had to have been working round the clock to have accomplished this much in so short a time. Only a few months later, the base looked brand new. Their last visit had been at night, in the dark, with only Rat’s team to protect them—they had been denied access to weapons at first, for some ungodly reason, though now that fact made more sense to Miller. Their mission had been a fraud from the start, though only half of Rat’s team had known that. Those men had been ordered to betray them and leave Miller, Rat, Sheppard, Terrill Lee, and Lovell behind, apparently to be incinerated when the nuclear device they’d brought exploded; a device that should have converted the hangar into a smoking, radioactive hole. There had never been a nuclear bomb. The base was still here, standing tall and USA proud. Miller struggled to accept this new reality. Crystal Palace had been sure as shit eradicated, along with the entire state of Nevada. It couldn’t be there. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.
Wrong.
The hangar was there.
It seemed entirely undamaged. Crystal Palace was clean and did not reek of decomposing bodies. Workers in all sorts of uniforms scurried from place to place like cockroaches when the kitchen light flicks on. Miller studied the crowds. She spotted every conceivable kind of military uniform, even a few civilian uniforms like law enforcement and emergency services, and quite a few contractors in civvies or plain mercenary fatigues. The activity was frantic, intense enough that the arrival of a Black Hawk with civilians aboard was so unremarkable as to draw very little attention from the workers.
“Do you need help with that harness, Penny?” It was Rat, suddenly very close. She sat down next to Miller.
“What?” Miller was still sitting in her canvas jump seat on the helicopter, staring out the window. Everyone else was outside, waiting for her on the tarmac. Scratch stood apart from the others. He was looking around in shock, mouth wide open, kind of like a teenage boy finding his first porn site. He was also clearly struggling to absorb their surroundings. Miller slapped at the quick release for her harness, and it fell away smoothly. She composed herself and addressed Rat.
“Where to?”
“Debriefing first,” Rat said, “then you can change and get some hot chow.”
“Good. I’m hungry enough to eat a pot pie full of radioactive pig slop.”
Rat frowned. “Are you feeling unusually hungry? Karl Sheppard briefed me on your condition while you and I were separated. Unusual hunger could be a symptom of the viral accelerant still in your system. Do you need medical attention?”
“What? No. I need to eat, that’s all.” Miller stood up and squared her shoulders. Those on the tarmac turned to stare. She stepped off the now-quiet helicopter with her head high, dignity more or less intact. Miller paused at the bottom of the steps. “Listen, Rat? Don’t you go and start mothering me. I got more than enough of that crap from Sheppard, and I’m still on the right side of dirt. Where is that son of a bitch, anyway?”
“The son of a bitch in question is right here, Sheriff,” came a familiar voice.
Miller spun around. She was stunned again to find Sergeant Karl Sheppard standing behind her. He was wearing Army BDUs and sporting a fresh military haircut. He looked healthy and happy. His brown eyes were twinkling.
Miller wrapped him in a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Penny,” squeaked Sheppard, with a grin. His arms flopped at his sides, pinned in place.
Sheppard looked as handsome as ever. He’d even grown a few grey hairs at his temples. Miller resisted the urge to kiss him. Instead, she just said, “Boy, I am hot damn happy to see you.”
Scratch looked a tad jealous.
“I got one question, Karl.” Miller took Sheppard by the shoulders, looked deep into his eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you wait for Scratch and me back at the lodge in Colorado?”
“Penny, I explained that to you,” Rat said from a few yards away. “We were being overrun at the time and…”
Miller glared Rat into silence. “Yes, you explained. Now I want to hear it from him.”
“Penny,” Sheppard said. ”I’m so sorry we had to leave you behind. We were being overrun at the chopper, and by both the zombies and those crazy survivalists. We had the two young boys with us, and had to make an executive decision. We all knew that taking off was the right thing to do, but we returned after a while and then stayed in the area searching for you.”
“How long did you try?”
“As long as we still had enough fuel to make it back to safety, we searched for you two. I assure you. Rat, Lovell, and I were heartbroken when we couldn’t find you guys in the aftermath of the fire. Even that brat Jimmy seemed upset when we flew away—though it’s hard to tell with that kid. He takes after his father.”
Scratch snorted. “Up yours, Karl. You got a problem with me, fine. I'm sure young Jimmy does too. But you don't ever talk shit about my son, especially when he isn't here to defend himself.”
Sheppard smiled. He turned his attention back to Miller. “Penny, I can’t tell you how happy we all were to read it when the National Guard posted your location in the survivor database.”
“You have a survivor database?”
“Listen,” Sheppard said, “we should all go to the conference room to continue this discussion. Some of what I need to tell you is still restricted, so this is not the time or the place.” He executed a perfect about-face, like a man used to command, and signaled that they should follow him. Miller and Scratch exchanged glances. Karl Sheppard had changed.
“By the way, you’ve done wonders with the place,” Scratch said, dryly.
“Wait until you see what we’ve accomplished here.” Sheppard seemed to have missed the sarcasm. He led the way across the tarmac. People bustled by with note pads and tablet computers.
As they walked on, Miller commented, “You know, this is the first time I’ve been in this joint where I haven’t been a prisoner, an experiment, or just plain zombie bait. It’s kind of a weird experience.”
Sheppard looked back over his shoulder. “I can understand that. Everyone here is working hard to erase one very ugly past. And it is my hope that you will eventually feel as comfortable and at home here as I do.”
That statement made Miller pause. She whispered to Scratch “I don’t know about ever feeling ‘at home.’ Not here.”
“Yeah, ol’ Karl is giving me the creeps. He’s acting like the Wizard of Oz.” Scratch squeezed Miller’s hand.
Sheppard took them across the vast hanger. They made their way through a huge set of double metal doors squatting directly below a large picture window set into the upper floor of the underground base. Miller saw no bullet holes or bloodstains. They led into a brightly lit corridor with stainless steel walls and a concrete floor. Miller couldn’t remember exactly what this particular corridor had looked like the last time. The few times she had been through it, the hallway had either been dark or she’d been all doped up and strapped to a gurney. Either way, she hadn’t really been looking at the décor. And she wasn’t now. Her mind vaguely registered white walls and tiled floors and metal railings and bars. Doors, all about the same, then long rows of nothing again. What was it about military installations that made originality and color off limits?
That strange, paranoid feeling returned out of nowhere. Miller just couldn’t take it all in. Sudden visions of zombies coming at her from all directions bombarded her mind. She had to fight to shake off the memories. Perhaps she did have PTSD, but she still didn’t trust Rubenstein in any way. It made sense. Flashbacks would hardly be surprising. Miller could almost feel the zombies nearby. Was that her imagination again, a new reality, or just old-fashioned paranoia? Miller rubbed her arms. She felt hungry and cold and scared. This place was not safe. No place was safe.
Sheppard continued to lead the way. As they passed other soldiers in the corridor, several of them saluted. O
ne man was a lieutenant, and Miller noted that he saluted Sheppard first. Miller didn’t know much about military life except what she’d picked up from one of Terrill Lee’s incessant hobbies, but as she remembered it subordinate officers saluted first. Had Sgt. Sheppard gotten a big promotion? What had she missed?
They finally arrived at a door marked Conference Room. Sheppard opened the door with a flourish. Bright lights, more white walls. They walked in and Miller immediately recognized the space. It was the room where Ripper, Brubeck, and Psycho had trapped Miller, Scratch, Terrill Lee, Sheppard, Rat, and Lovell. They’d then locked them up to anticipate dying in the coming nuclear explosion—one that never happened. Which raised another question, if that nuke was never intended to go off, what had been the point of locking them in that room in the first place? Was someone coming back for them later? Were they to be taken prisoner at some point? Several of the mercenaries had been left in the dark as to their true mission. Someone must have known. Unfortunately, Ripper, Brubeck, Psycho, and their boss, Gifford, were all dead-dead now, not just the walking-around kind of dead. They wouldn’t be talking. Maybe Rat knew the whole story. Or maybe not. It made Miller’s head spin.
“I see you cleaned up the dead bodies in the corner,” said Miller.
“It was a big job,” Sheppard said, “just one of many.” He made a face like he didn’t care to discuss that subject.
Sheppard faced her fully. Miller could see why the lieutenant outside had saluted him.
“Looks like you got yourself some railroad tracks, Sergeant.”
Sheppard glanced down at the captain’s bars on his shoulders. “Yeah, it was sort of a surprise. I’ll get to that soon. Please have a seat.”
Miller, Scratch, Alex, Rat, and Lovell all perched on chairs. Lovell looked bored. Miller noticed that he’d expressed little interest in her, which seemed surprising considering all they’d been through in the past. He was a professional first. She supposed it was all about money again. Rat certainly seemed to feel that way.
Sheppard assumed a position at the head of the room. He looked comfortable and in charge. Miller noticed that Rubenstein was sitting at the far end of the table. Why had he been included? Scratch shook his head silently, signaling Miller to let it go for now. Miller ignored him.
“I didn’t realize the good doctor would be joining us,” Miller purred. Her eyes seemed to burn wide holes in the atmosphere.
Sheppard frowned, but quickly regained his composure. “Dr. Rubenstein is here at my request.”
“He should be in a prison cell awaiting a particularly short military trial,” said Alex, “followed by a summary execution. I volunteer for the firing squad.” It was the first time the younger man had spoken since they’d arrived. His tense voice finally focused the meeting.
“We have so much to cover.” Sheppard sighed. “All right, let’s start in the middle, then.” He looked at each one of them in turn, finally settling on Scratch and Miller. “Like it or not, we need Dr. Rubenstein. He is part of the team.”
“Was he part of the team when he was doing illegal experiments on falsely-imprisoned human subjects?” Alex demanded.
“I can understand why you’re all upset.” Sheppard hesitated. “However, what Dr. Rubenstein did was technically legal.”
Miller, Scratch, and Alex began shouting at once. Rubenstein shrank into his chair. Hearing the sound, an armed guard stuck his head in the door. Karl Sheppard waved the man away. Voices overran one another as they released their pent-up frustration and rage. Finally Sheppard put up his hands. Miller and Scratch sat down again. The explosion faded.
“Calm down,” Sheppard shouted, commandingly. “We’re doing this out of order. Please, let me just explain.”
“Explain what?” demanded Alex. “A girl named Leslie and I were hauled off the street in broad daylight, strapped to beds, and injected with God-knows-what, and she got bit to death. Now you’re telling me someone authorized that? Something like that would take nothing less than a presidential order, and even then it would be completely unconstitutional!” He glared at Rubenstein. “Did you have a presidential order, you pompous asshole?”
Sheppard spoke instead. “Well, yes and no.”
“Yes and no?” Miller was stunned. She was tired of hearing that phrase.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to show you the exact order,” said Sheppard. “It’s classified. Believe me, both the cover-up of the plague and the search for a cure are appropriate and fully legal. We have the backing of both the President and Congress. With the zombies rapidly becoming a disaster of historical proportions, we are virtually in a state of war. I doubt anyone could successfully challenge the constitutionality of this order.”
“Okay, but then where does the no part come in, Karl?” Scratch asked.
“Well, it’s complicated. The command of the operation—and the necessary budget appropriations—is headquartered at the air base at Mountain Home, Idaho.”
Miller snorted. “In other words, General Gifford’s home base. Again.”
“Yeah.” Scratch sat up. His eyes widened. “So you’re telling me the same jokers who are in charge of this fucking mess are looking after my kid?”
“Jimmy is perfectly fine,” Sheppard said, “So is his brother Lex.” He turned to face Miller. “At any rate, our commanders in Mountain Home are the ones given the real authority. It is they who have fully authorized the continued search for the cure.”
“The grotesque human experiments.” Alex said, interrupting. “Did they authorize those, too?”
Sheppard remained silent. It was as good as an admission of culpability.
“Those rat bastards,” Alex said. He stood and began to pace. Everyone in the room could tell the conversation had hit another nerve. “I knew the government had done all sorts of dirty experiments on consenting soldiers over the years—radiation experiments, LSD, STDs, all sorts of crazy shit—but now you’re telling us that the United States government has actually suspended our human rights? That they have authorized morally reprehensible experiments on civilians that would have made Dr. Mengele blush like a virgin?”
“No, Alex. This is a military operation. Despite being the commander in chief, the President is part of the civil leadership structure, and so is Congress. Mountain Home gave the mandate for continued research, not the President.”
Sheppard was fighting to project the illusion of command, but Miller felt she understood him all too well. He was on shaky ground and knew it. Captain or no, and despite his close proximity to the origin of the zombie virus, Karl Sheppard was still just a medical technician—not even a real M.D. And deep inside, he wasn’t really an officer or a leader of any caliber, either. Watching him now, Miller felt a tug of sympathy for Karl. What a mess. He’d been there at the beginning of the virus, so he had knowledge that was of real value to the government, but poor Sheppard wouldn’t have willingly signed on for this kind of drama.
“You know, Karl,” Miller said, softly, “I almost felt sorry for you for second there.”
“I am in a difficult position, Penny.”
“Save it. The feeling lasted about as long as it takes a bunny to get his rocks off.”
“I understand your concern,” Sheppard said. “But with most of the mountain states under martial law—and Nevada officially off the map—the government has the responsibility to protect the citizens of the United States, even if the measures are a bit…”
“Reckless,” said Miller, finishing his sentence.
Scratch said, “Immoral.”
Alex said, “Also un-American and illegal.”
“I would prefer to say vital,” Sheppard concluded. He met Miller’s stare. “Let’s get back to the main point. We must find a cure.”
“Okay, and let’s cut to the chase, Karl. So now you expect us to cooperate with you and Dr. Evil?” Miller asked.
Sheppard turned to look at Rubenstein. “I was hoping you would, Penny, at least with the search for the cure.
As for Dr. Rubenstein, his role is somewhat curtailed at the moment.”
“Well, if Penny isn’t in then you can count me out,” said Scratch. He turned to Penny and Alex. “Folks, I say we go down to the motor pool and requisition us a brand new Hummer. Nevada is a big state, and apparently these days it’s emptier than ever. We got us a lot of driving ahead.”
Sheppard stood up. He walked over to Miller, but stopped a respectful distance from her chair. “Penny, you and Scratch here are the first two real survivors of the zombie virus as we know it.”
“So?”
“We need to know why you two have endured. Why you lived when so many others have died. Once we understand how you’ve survived, we can stop the senseless deaths from continuing. If we can learn enough, we may even be able to eventually reverse the effects of the virus. But that’s only possible if you cooperate now.”
“Back up!” Scratch leaned forward. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white with anger. “What do you mean, Penny and me? It’s bad enough you keep fucking around with her body, but since when am I one of your guinea pigs?”
“Scratch, you should know why you’re part of this,” Sheppard said. “Despite my warnings to avoid intimate contact, how long have you two been having sex?”
Miller set her jaw. “Is that what this is all about? You’re pissed off that we didn’t take your advice?”
“No, no! Not at all,” Sheppard said. He smiled. “Under the circumstances, I couldn’t be happier for you both. You found love in a broken world. The part that concerns me is that we aren’t getting any good data from you. There is so much we can learn from your case. Something went very right here. You have both been exposed yet survived. We need to know why and transfer that knowledge to our prevention efforts. We have a fairly good idea of what went wrong, but we haven’t a clue why the effects are so different with you, Penny, and you, Scratch. You are both a miracle. So any hope for a cure begins and ends with you.”
