Alan wanted Ed worked up, angry, and emotional. Alan leaned back in his chair. “Are you really interested in safety?”
“How can you question that? Ever since you made me chief, I’ve done nothing but what you asked to keep the city safe.”
“Have you, though? And you’re right, I did make you chief, and I can unmake you, too.”
Ed bolted up and leaned his fists on the desk, his face growing red. “I’ve done my job. I stepped up when you asked two years ago, when you got us organized, and convinced people to move forward. All the hours I’ve put in, all the times, like now, how I drop whatever and come because it’s the right thing to do—”
“Is keeping your wife and son chained up the right thing to do, seeing as they’re dead?”
The bubbling rage simmered in an instant, and Ed stepped back, befuddled. “How do you know that? No one’s seen them but me.”
“Sit down, Ed.”
“How?”
Alan made his voice firm. “Sit down, Ed.”
Ed lunged over the desk, screaming, and reached for Alan’s shoulders. Prepared for the outburst, Alan caught Ed, whose breath reeked of onions, and shoved him back across the desk. Ed flailed and stumbled onto the chair, crashing to the ground, and moaned. Alan rounded the desk, shrugging his shoulders, impressed at how effortless he deflected a man who outweighed him by seventy pounds. He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, while Ed rolled and palmed his left hip.
“Don’t even think about it,” Alan said, flexing his leg, appreciating the extra spring in knee and ankle from the suit. “I’ll crush your throat before you even get it unholstered. Now, sit up and get in the chair.”
Ed struggled to lift himself to the chair, his joints popping as he winced. “But how did you know about Marie and Trevor? Everyone thinks they died years ago.”
“I noticed you regularly left the city twice a month. Which isn’t odd, but you didn’t have any reason to. You left patrols to various subordinates, and we had others who coordinated affairs with other cities for trade or information. So I had Sophie fly a drone to follow you, and watch you murder the occasional straggler who happened to be within a few miles.”
Ed sat deflated in the chair, his head bowed.
“I thought, ‘That’s interesting.’ If you did it in Greenport, I’d have you sent to the Mill and executed. But you didn’t piss in your own pool, so I let it pass. Curious though. Sophie followed the drone to your home, where you dragged a large garbage bag into your house.”
“I had to keep my family alive. They didn’t eat any food I gave them,” Ed said, dejected.
“Right. A locksmith let me in your house, where I found the bedroom,” Alan paused and cringed. “The smell was fucking atrocious, Ed. Not to mention the chains around your wife and son.”
Ed began to cry and his voice cracked. “They’re all I had. I was a broken man when they got bit.”
“I get that, I do, as disgusting as it is, I get it. And like I said, I let it slide. Which comes back to my original point—you haven’t kept Greenport as safe as you let on.”
“I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can. What do you want me to do? Kill them like the ZMTs do?”
“I don’t care about your family, but I do care about you doing your job. Who’s supposed to pick up Julian?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know that?”
“Since things are screwed up, I need to know so I can fix it.”
“A ZMT named Bobby Bannon.”
“Is Paul Summers or his fiancée Karen Myers involved?”
“No… why would they be?”
Alan hummed. Perhaps Paul got swept up in this by chance, or “Would Bobby need other people or tell them?”
“No. He works alone. He tends to pride himself on that.”
“Does he work alone disposing bodies in alleys?”
“Was it in Creedy?”
“Yes…”
“They found out about the release of the runners, and I had them killed.”
Alan frowned. “That’s the wrong kind of initiative, you know that?”
“But one of them knew Nasher, though,” Ed said, holding out his hands. “He was an in-law or something, and would have spoiled your operation.”
“You should have detained him and informed me of that.” Alan adjusted his arms across his chest. “And now, perhaps the whole reason why tonight is fucked up—who the hell is Miles? And why was he a runner for tonight?”
A knock rapped on Alan’s door. Annoyed he answered, “Yes?”
Sophie poked her head into the office. “The ZMT transport with your subjects will be here within five minutes. I thought you should know, in case you wanted to meet it in the bay.”
Alan perked his head and signaled a hand in the air. “Perfect. I’ll be done with Ed in a minute or two. Thank you.”
Sophie glanced at Ed and nodded back to Alan before closing the door.
“See? See, Ed, Sophie took some initiative and did her job and informed me.” He walked behind Ed, and Alan rested his hands on Ed’s shoulders. They tensed at the touch. “Who was Miles?”
“A friend of Nasher’s has a son. Miles is that guy’s son.”
“And what did you get out of it?”
Ed sighed. “There are others who… are in a similar situation as me.”
“You mean there are others who keep family locked up like feral animals?” Alan squeezed Ed’s shoulders.
“Yes.”
Alan processed the implications. He knew what he did in the Mill or in his lab would get him in prison or sentenced to death in a world before the outbreak, but those people were either criminals or in the case of his drones, already dead. Sophie was the closest Alan knew to a family or loved one, and the thought of her pale skin turned ashen grey and gnashing attached to chains made him shake his head and bite his lip. “Where do they get the people they feed them?”
“I don’t know. Nasher’s friend traffics them in. From there, people come to the friend for the food.”
“The food,” Alan nearly retched. How had he missed this? He pushed down on Ed’s shoulders.
“I offered to get Miles out, in order to get the food—”
“The people. They killed people as food. You offered Miles up, what, because you were lazy? Or did murder cause too much guilt?”
Ed’s voice was weak. “A little of both.”
“Ed, I’m sorry, but I can’t let this slide.”
“Please, please, let me make it up. I can get in with the friend and we can stop the trafficking.”
“If you had offered that to me when you found out, I’d have taken you up on it, but—”
“Please—”
Alan leaned down and put Ed in a chokehold. Before Ed could fight, Alan twisted and pulled Ed’s neck back and heard a faint snap. Ed crumpled in the chair, appearing to be asleep. A rush of blood swept through Alan while he took deep breaths and studied his arms. Why had he not put the suit on sooner, weeks ago when he made it? Was this the strength all the jocks in college and high school raved about? The power? He made a mental note to put his new abilities through a battery of tests, for coordination, strength and agility while he filched Ed’s gun and tucked it in the small of his back.
Alan straightened his jacket and adjusted the mesh suit underneath and left his office for the ZMT ambulance bay, prepared to greet Karen.
Chapter 17
Central district’s lights faded in from beyond the full cabin of the ZMT truck. Thomas and Jane insisted on returning with Karen to not only help find Paul, but track down Sophie, who roamed the campus like a wisp of a ghost. As to where Sophie spent her time, or what she did, Karen guessed Alan kept her busy. But how long had she been in Greenport, and did she know her brother was still alive? Paul had recounted how his sister ran away, and the days and nights he spent tracking her down. More puzzling and disconcerting to Karen was why Sophie never reached out to reconnect, especially if she lived among easy access
to the city’s central communications hub.
Karen leaned her head back. “Thomas, do you think Sophie has access to the Greenport network?”
Thomas studied the two dead commandos piled on the cart in front of him, his gaze on the exposed arm, while Jane cut away the black jumpsuit, despite Donovan’s protests. “For sure. All that time in Central, living like a ghost, she’d have to have access. You said earlier she looked healthy, not like a survivor who just came in from the woods, right? She’s eating, taking showers, doing something, sleeping somewhere.”
“Okay, suppose all that’s true,” Karen said, holding her arms out. “That wouldn’t explain if she’s accessing the network. Besides, where’s she sleeping?”
Donovan coughed. “There are plenty of places for her to be out of sight. There’s a whole portion of the compound off limits to us.”
“Ask Alan,” Jane said. “He’s like some great and powerful all seeing deity, it’s fucking creepy. He’s even creepy around the other ZMT gals.”
“I always thought he was socially inept,” Thomas said. “I don’t think he’s hiding women in a hidden room on the grounds.” He looked up at Karen. “But you’re right. It’s weird how well she’s remained hidden, even in plain sight when she handed you a folder to your face.”
Karen rolled her eyes and groaned. “I’d only seen that picture once, a few years ago, for a few minutes. Thomas, you got to admit, you need to mentally visualize that picture to the person we think we’ve seen recently.”
“Very true.”
Jane scraped her knife along the thin metal sheath on the commando’s arm.
“Don’t look at me for truth on Sophie or whoever she is. I’ve never seen her. I mean, it’s intriguing that Paul’s sister has been alive all this time, if it’s her, but,” her voice paused and she raised the arm of a commando, “this right here is fucked up, right now.”
“These guys are what attacked you?” Thomas said.
“One of them, yes, and two others attacked a ZMT crew on the scene,” Karen said. “It—it was unreal how quickly and viciously they moved and attacked. Just ferocious.”
“That one with the helmet off, it looks like it’s been dead a while,” Jane said. “Zombies never attacked like you said, let alone wearing a helmet.”
“I did see a dead motorcyclist when I was out there. Got pinned between his bike and a tree. Thing was so frail. It never got its helmet off,” Thomas said, laughing.
“You know what I mean. Karen says it had the coordination of a military commando. And the brutality of one, too.”
“It was like they were on a mission and got interrupted and just adapted to whatever the circumstance was. It wasn’t mindless, like out there, that we all know.”
Jane prodded the surface of the silver material sheathing the arm, gently applying tension to the surface. “Give me a glove,” she said to no one in particular. “Better yet, hand me a pair and a gauze pad.”
Donovan opened a cabinet. “Can’t this wait? We’ll be on the dock in a few minutes.”
“What’s it matter? If I make a mess you’re already going to have to clean the truck anyways.”
Donovan grunted and threw down a gauze pack, a medic visor, and tossed a pair of gloves to Jane’s lap.
“Thanks,” she said, snapping the gloves to her wrist and placing the visor over her face. “Thomas, Karen, lean back in case it gets messy.”
“Messy,” Thomas said, contorting his face in disgust.
“Yeah, like, sploosh,” her hands mimicked an eruption of fluid escaping the dead body.
“Jesus.”
Jane pulled up the sleeve, curious as to the fabric’s elasticity. Its sheen became less opaque as she stretched it out, and a swirling pattern of outlined diamond shapes appeared, like scales on a snake. Holding the fabric taut, she placed the knife down and scratched the surface. A slick frictionless cell was walled off by a threaded material that ever so slightly raised the surface, like a thin thread of fishing line. The knife pierced the fabric, splicing a series of threads, and immediately a wide berth of fabric ripped open. The threads were grey and metallic.
“We’ll be pulling in to the bay in about two minutes,” Vee called out.
Karen and Thomas stared, transfixed on Jane skinning a zombie’s clothes. Jane huffed and a cloud formed and evaporated inside her visor in the time she sliced open the entire black sleeve to reveal the same sheathing up to its shoulders, but wires, thicker than the threads in the sleeve, snaked out and around to the base of the skull. The knife strolled along the wire and tapped a metallic plug. She tapped it three more times.
“Somebody, rip the gauze pack open, now.”
Karen reached over Thomas, grabbed the pack like a balled-up dish towel and tore the corners apart. She handed the white synthetic cotton sheet to Jane’s outstretched hand. Karen leaned back, not daring to ask what Jane was about to do. This might be the mess she warned about.
Jane shook the cloth loose in her right hand and placed it like a compress below the plug at the base of the skull. She closed her eyes slightly, focusing the tip of the knife at the seem where the hard plug met the soft, grey skin. She wedged the knife slowly at first, testing the bounds of what was inserted, with the tip meeting the prong going into the skull. Regripping the knife with her fist, she slid the blade down as if to cut, but instead, pried the plug from the skull.
Karen saw the zombie’s hand twitch.
No.
Karen blinked, squeezed her bleary eyes to will away any exhaustion, and clear any—
The entire arm shook.
“Jane—”
Jane’s fist gripped gauze and pulled on the plug, unaware of the body convulsing. An inch slid out, then two, then a third when the end popped out and a thick ooze flooded the gurney.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK.” Thomas yelled, cramming himself to the furthest back corner of the truck.
Vee turned. “What is going on back there?”
“One of the zombies moved,” Karen said, still wide-eyed.
“Moved? It’s dead.”
Donovan spoke, haltingly, “It may be dead, but it shook, convulsed, moved all on its own. Maybe the thing Jane pulled out did something?”
Jane held the dislodged probe up to the lights. Dark gray crumbs of brain matter stuck to thick strands of black crimson blood. Underneath, small gold circlets lined the length of the shaft, and the tip split into two rounded prongs, leaving a fraction of an inch of space between the two. The circlets bumped along her finger as she slid it down one side, sweeping blood in its path and reached the tip.
“Ya-ouch,” she screeched. “There’s some kind of current running through this. Not much, kind of like a static charge, but still, it surprised me.”
“For now, put it down, and we can look at it later,” Karen said. After watching Jane pull the probe from the zombie’s skull, Karen sat transfixed knowing she should look away from the bizarre extraction. At first, when she was attacked on the street, she thought paramilitary found their way into Greenport. And then with the sheathing, and discovering they were zombies, it became bizarre. Now, she had to agree. “This is fucked up.”
“Fucked up or not,” Vee said, and immediately four sets of eyes stared at her while Jane waved the probe. “Okay, fucked up, but we’re here, and going to have to unload.”
The ZMT truck slowed and turned wide, and backed into the bay. Shadow figures dashed out of the way, except for one. The truck’s red and white tail lights bathed the outline of a man in a pale orange glow. He stood, unmoving from the truck’s path with his hands folded behind his back. A blank, emotionless face came into view as the truck stopped, and an arm swung to the door.
A metallic click popped and the doors squeaked, revealing Alan.
“Welcome. Thank you for transporting the bodies back,” Alan stopped, and his eyes spotted the control hub splayed casually atop one of his zombies.
“Oh, hey Alan,” Thomas said. “We weren’t expecting yo
u. I mean, expecting you to meet us when we arrived.”
“I had to see the perpetrators of this evening’s altercation. Karen, I heard you were there. I trust you’re okay?”
Alan rarely, if ever, came to the ZMT hangar. Karen knew this as a fact from Paul. Even when they had small outbreaks of dozens of zombies within the city, Alan would remain in his computerized command fortress, casually observing trucks and crews roll out and return, detached from any sense of action. Alan must have ordered their reroute here, and his interest in these “perpetrators” struck her as odd.
“Yes, I’m okay,” Karen said. “A different crew checked me out down in Belleville. Have you gotten any updates on the two guys who got away? They killed two ZMTs at the scene.”
“We think they’re associated with Nasher, and I have a police unit out looking for them.”
“You’ll need a whole squad,” Karen said. “They were vicious and unrelenting—”
“I have seen the video,” Alan said, holding up a hand. “We’ll get them, surely. Right now, I’ll need you all to transport these two bodies to a special holding area.”
Donovan and Jane shuffled out the back. “What about the disposal protocols?” Donovan asked. “Don’t you want us to swab them and incinerate them?”
“Not immediately. I’d like to observe them closer, see if there are any other clues.”
“Like this,” Jane said, waving the probe, the blood now congealed to a sticky syrup. “It’s a clue all right to something seriously crazy. I pulled it out, and the body had a seizure.”
Alan’s nostrils flared, and his lips twitched. With measured breaths, he stepped in front of Jane. “I’m sure it’s something, you’re right. Something we should let experts examine. And what is your name, ZMT, and why did you remove the device from its head?”
Alan’s condescending presence punctured Jane’s personal space. His crossed arms leaned into her chest and his breath exhaled into her eyes. And how did he know the probe was removed from the zombie’s head? As far as Karen knew, there were no cameras inside the trucks. Jane took a step back. “Jane Madigan. Curiosity, I suppose. It seemed weird that a zombie would have something shoved in the back of its skull, let alone covered in wires and—”
Survivor Response Page 17
