“I sense a bucket of guilt.”
“Loads of it. To lose both family members in 24 hours, it shattered me. I’m lucky I survived and stumbled into Greenport, and now I’m a ZMT with a fiancée, and wrapped up in some plot to take down the city,” Paul laughed. “And I was exposed to infected blood this afternoon.”
Molly bolted up. “Say again?”
“Bobby shot this guy we came across, and his blood covered my entire face, neck, shirt. I’ve been aching all day. They took a sample, but I haven’t been able to call in.”
Molly relaxed her shoulders and chuckled. “Paul, you’re fine. If you haven’t turned now, you’re okay. In fact, it’s already in you, in most people. It’s the saliva that’s the active ingredient, or catalyst, as my brother says.”
Paul twisted his face. “Wait, what? How would Nasher know this?”
“My brother has been able to get information about the Plague—”
“Information?”
“Yes.” Molly reached to open the box of limes and removed one. She grabbed a paring knife on the counter and cut the lime in half. “Don’t know how, but the Plague wasn’t biological. It acts like a biology experiment, doing things to the body. One of which is making your blood funny actin’. What’s in your blood, when it gets infected by the saliva of someone turned, it turns whatever on and turns you. Clyde says it does something to PH levels and electrolytes. Way over my kindergarten teacher mind. Hold out your arm, and I’ll show you something.”
Paul extended his right arm out with trepidation. “Okay—and?”
Molly kneeled down with half a lime in one hand and the paring knife in the other. “I’m going to cut your arm a little—”
Paul recoiled. “No.”
“I just need a little drop of blood on the lime. Please?”
Molly smiled sweetly to Paul. She looked like a sadistic middle school science teacher. “What does this prove?”
“Fine. Be difficult,” Molly said. She took the knife to her left forearm, slicing her skin a fraction of an inch. Her face winced and a small blob of blood broke the surface. She laid the knife down and placed the lime in her right hand and held it under her left arm. A droplet of blood touched the fluorescent green fruit. “Now watch.”
Paul stared at the lime. His blood slid across the surface of the spongy fruit. He expected the blood to turn to a lesser shade of red. Suddenly a tiny spark shot above the surface. Then another. A fury of miniature lightning bolts sprung from the lime as the crimson blood turned to a slick black mark, scarring the fruit.
When it was done, Paul stared wide-eyed at Molly.
“What the hell was that?”
“Some kind of chemical reaction. We don’t know.”
“And if I were infected? What would have happened then?”
“Then I’d kill you outright.”
“I mean, what would the reaction have been?”
“The blood on the surface wouldn’t have sparked like it did. It would have sunk.”
“I... this...”
“Is a relief?”
“Yes. I’ve been thrown around so much today that my body’s sore all over. And I kept waiting, or thinking rather that at any moment I’d pass out, and that’d be my end.”
“If you get infected, it happens quickly. Your dad must have been a big man. It usually just seizes you.” She held the lime closer to him. “And runs through you like lightning.”
Paul recalled victims during the Plague. “That would explain all the times I’d see someone turn. They’d have everything from a shake to a violent seizure.”
Molly set the lime down on the counter and studied Paul. She crossed her arms and walked with her head bowed around the cooking table. Her boots clicked with each footstep, matching Paul’s heartbeat. She placed her hands down, leaned forward on the table and stretched her legs.
“Paul, what do you want?”
“To get out of here alive,” he said, not sure of her meaning.
“That’s a given. Healthy human nature, for sure, but at this moment, what do you want to do?”
To see Karen again, he almost said, but Molly’s ring sparkled in the light and caught his eye. Diamonds encircled the gold band on her left hand.
“Your ring. I saw one like it earlier today.”
“What does that have to do with anything about you?”
“I saw one like it twice—what’s the chance of that?”
Molly’s fists clenched the edge of the counter; she let go and stood up straight. “My husband and I have matching wedding rings. Seemed a romantic thing to do years ago.” She traced the ring with her other hand. “Why?”
“My team, our last call of the day, we came across a guy in an alley, wearing a blue jumpsuit.” Molly drew her arms closer in. “We thought he was already dead. Completely dead. Anyways, he attacked me, nearly got me, and Bobby shot him.”
Molly blinked.
“His blood got all over me, making me paranoid all day until you showed me otherwise. We inspected the body, and the curious thing we found was the ring. Not many men wear one like that, so it stood out.”
“What did he look like?”
“He hadn’t been turned for too long. Late fifties, light brown hair with a lot of grey.”
Tears quietly streaked through the wrinkles down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.
“Alex. My husband’s name was Alex.”
Softly, she continued. “He was a delivery driver for the city. He was supposed to be doing a route last night with a new trainee, fresh out of the Mill. I haven’t heard from him all day, which isn’t unusual, as sometimes he has to go out of Greenport for a job, and other times he takes a double. It makes it hard for him to give me a heads up since Alan monitors everything they do, which puts him in a precarious position since I’m the sister of,” she rolled her eyes, “the most dangerous criminal in Greenport.”
Paul gripped the box of limes by his side and pushed himself up, grimacing as stiff muscles resisted any movement to stand. He flexed and twisted his arms and torso, mimicking Molly’s arms-crossed stance. “I’m sorry,” he said, catching her eyes. “We took him in to get ID’ed afterwards. I’m surprised they haven’t notified you. Usually, we can contact family within a few hours.”
“Alex isn’t in the registry. I’m not either. Nor is Clyde. We were all here before Alan and his registration program. You’ll find that a lot people in Foxer are like us. When the program got rolled out, it was mandatory for everyone entering Greenport.”
“Yes, I got poked when I came through the gates.”
Molly swallowed and wiped her face. “It was and remained voluntary for those of us who were already here, but it was encouraged that we do so in case things like this happened.” She laughed, sadly.
Paul stood, unsure of how to respond. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped and let his eyes drop to the counter.
“I’ll be okay, Paul, I will. Alex and I made some good years, survived those shitty ones and thought we could make it to our final days here. Along the way, we resolved, agreed, shared, I don’t know,” she spoke rapidly, drew a breath and continued. “However we end, keep the mourning to a glass of sweet tea and bourbon. And right now, I don’t have any damn tea in my bar. So Paul, what I want right now is a glass of sweet tea. What the damn hell do you want?”
“I want to see my fiancée again...” his voice trailed off. “Do you have a phone? She works for dispatch, in the call center. Karen’s her name.”
Molly’s eyes widened. “Your fiancée is the Karen?”
“Yes.” Paul cocked his head. “And?”
“Your girl, your woman, is about the only person on the other side of the bridge that can challenge Alan. Oh, boy, when Clyde finds out, he’ll dance.”
“How so? She runs the Call Center, plus there’s the mayor and the various aldermen.”
“Paul, you’re being dumb at best, naive at worst. Karen. Karen has access to the city’s gr
id of information. That’s what makes Alan powerful. That’s what Clyde wants to counter. You think all those calls she gets aren’t tracked, stored, mined, used against Greenport’s own citizens?”
Paul remembered Julian’s innocent mistake with his gun. “Does it happen a lot, using the information that way?”
“How do you think Alan gets his slave labor in the prisons? He’s got dirt on most people in this city. You know Alderman Bettworth?”
Shannon Bettworth represented Northside, a working class district on the west side of the bridge, that hugged up against Greenport’s north boundary. He was a larger man who charmed with a smile and a well-honed ability to connect with anyone. Paul nodded.
“Once a month, we send over a private car that brings him over here. He goes on a cultural excursion, as he likes to call them. But, really, he meets at one of Foxer’s finer parlors and indulges in several vices. Do you see why this might be an issue Alan could exploit?”
“Then why hasn’t he?”
“Bettworth defers to whatever Alan wants. We’re sure he knows Alan knows.”
“And you think Karen can get at this information and destroy it? Use it against Alan?”
“Oh, my brother believes if we can upend Alan’s means of control, Greenport’s better off.”
Paul stepped back with his hands on his hips and paced the length of the kitchen. He’d need to get back across the river, safely, with out drawing the ire of the black figures that followed him earlier. And then he’d have to get through the city and find Karen.
“I need a phone, a gun, and directions to get to your brother. Can he get me across the river?”
“He does have people who can fly helicopters, and I can do all of the above,” Molly said, turning to the back corner of the kitchen and returning with an orange safety gun. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and offered it to Paul. “Let me guess, you’re gonna call dispatch?”
“You guessed right.”
Chapter 20
Karen trailed the small group Alan led through a series of sterile hallways. The white linoleum floors bounced light in every direction, making the walls a dull shade of mint green. Perhaps this was a former hospital or medical facility. Doors were wide with handles one could push to open. Etched outlines of nameplates hung as shadows, and crumpled beige curtains floated against the inside of the few windows they passed.
Their collective footsteps tapped and clicked while the cart squeaked and chirped. Alan took long strides, still with his head down, shoulders forward; his hands remained behind his back, palms clasped. Jane and Thomas exchanged glances and wide-eyed stares with each new hallway they entered. Donovan gripped the cart, and the hairs of his beard twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. The air mingled between scents of chemical astringent and heavy musk, like someone cleaned but not too thoroughly.
Alan halted at one of the many similar doors, and Donovan jerked the cart sideways, avoiding the backsides of Jane and Thomas. With a quick flick to his pocket, Alan swiped a badge across the door handle. It beeped and clacked, and he swung the door open, remaining at the threshold. “Donovan, Thomas. Please enter, and bring the bodies with you.”
Donovan nodded and maneuvered the cart into a room lit only by ambient light from the outside windows and hallway. Thomas followed, turning and palming the wall for a light switch. The room lit up, revealing the same sterile monotony of the hallway, only with an added counter, a bed covered in an off-white fitted sheet, and a stainless steel pole used to hold IV bags.
“What are we supposed to do here?” Thomas asked, leaning against the counter.
“Wait,” Alan said. “I’ll return to debrief you about this evening.”
Thomas opened his mouth, closed it. “Okay. Can we make this quick? I’d like to get to dispatch and help with whatever they need.”
“I’ll return shortly, after I speak with Karen and Jane.”
Thomas looked to Donovan, who sat on the bed and returned a silent shrug.
Alan pulled the door closed, waited for the clack of the bolt before leaning into the door. “Very well,” he said as he turned to Karen and Jane, satisfied the door had shut. “Ladies, follow me.”
Karen met his pace. “Alan, what is there to debrief on? I’m sure you’ve already seen the video feeds from the network.”
“That is true, and now I wish to hear from you, to verify what occurred. Witnesses always help to add context to the events captured by our cameras. Plus, I’m curious as to what compelled,” he looked back, “Jane to explore the body, not knowing what would occur.”
“I didn’t know. Was curious, just as you would have been,” Jane said.
“Fine. But dangerous. Something could have gone horribly wrong inside the ZMT truck. Not something I take lightly.”
“We had four people inside a heavily armed vehicle. Six if you count Vee and Shelly,” said Karen. “We would have been fine. These two guys attacked an entire city block, threw me nearly twenty feet at one point, like I was a piece of trash.”
Alan stopped abruptly again. “Interesting choice of words. We can continue inside my lab, and you can tell me more.” A swipe of his badge opened the door to a dark office. “Please, go on ahead.”
A raw miasma of copper and meat hit Karen. She gagged and squeezed her eyes shut, reaching for Jane. The door shut and a bolt clicked as the lights sprung from above. Grey tiles covered the floor, and dry blood speckled the surface and streaked to the back of the room where two phantom figures floated beyond a dirty glass enclosure.
“Forgive me for not cleaning up properly. Tonight’s events made things rushed, and,” Alan removed a gun from the inside of his blazer, “unplanned.”
Frozen in place, Karen gasped. “Alan—”
Jane charged Alan with her shoulder lowered below the gun’s line of sight. Alan dropped his aim and squeezed the trigger, stepping aside, watching the shot explode through Jane’s neck. Karen screamed as Jane tumbled, landing on her left eye, drawing her hands to the wound. Blood seeped between her fingers and streamed down her wrist, and the droplets turned black on the tile.
“No, no, no, Jane!” Karen yelled, lurching to the floor on her knees.
“Get back,” Alan said, his tone indifferent. “Just get back. Do not help her in any way, or you get one, too, but in the knee.”
Karen inched closer to Jane, whose legs kicked and propelled her self along the floor toward Alan. Karen touched Jane’s ankle.
A second bang erupted and shards of tile erupted inches from Karen’s wrist. “I rarely offer warnings twice, Karen. Now, do as I say.”
Karen backed away and began to stand, her eyes fixated on the life bleeding out of Jane, her legs ceased kicking and her breath became ragged and slow. Tears welled. “Jesus Christ, Alan, what, what is this about?”
“This is your debriefing about this evening.”
“But you just fucking shot her,” Karen waved her arms to Jane, the dark blood pooling to clumps in her hair, her arms now limp. Karen’s eyes blinked. She wanted to rage. “How are you going to debrief her if she’s dead?”
“She already answered the one question I had of her. You could say as the cliché goes, curiosity killed the cat. Now, as for you—”
“How is removing a probe from some guy a reason for you to—” Karen paused, glanced at a workbench cluttered in electronics parts. Wires, chips, metal, things in various states of assembly. “You’re connected to those men, the commandos. Aren’t you? That’s why you shot her. Her removing that thing, somehow offended you.”
Alan exhaled loudly. “Oh, it was an insult. To defile such a machine, she should have just left it alone. It’s unfortunate it had to happen this way, but I see no other reason not to. Now, my question for you—”
“And then what, you’ll shoot me, too?”
“No. Now, my question is this, why is your fiancée working for Nasher?”
“What?” Karen said, her eyebrows raised. “What do you mean? He doesn
’t even know Nasher.”
Alan hummed. “That confirms what Ed tells me. More dumb luck. Very well,” he said, tucking the gun behind his back and turning to the door.
“Wait, you’re going to leave me here?”
“Yes, I am.”
Jane was now motionless; her glassy eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.
“But she’s going to turn!”
“She will. Very shortly. Goodbye, Karen.” Alan opened the door and left, watching the handle as he pulled it closed.
Karen squeezed her eyes shut to momentarily block out Jane and drew her hands over her mouth.
She screamed.
An entire day’s of emotions surged from the depth of her lungs, rumbling, tumbling over her vocal chords and through her lips. The room filled with rage and anger and frustration. She spent the last of her breath, gasped more air and let out an aftershock, a wail, and muttered through tears, “Damn it, God damn it.”
Jane lay still. Quiet. In minutes spasms would ripple through her small frame and convulse a second undead life into her. A life that Karen would need to extinguish before it overcame her. Despite her size, Jane took pride in her strength and physical abilities. During a construction project, she volunteered, carrying bags of concrete in her arms, and later that evening, the men on the project had challenged her to carry an assortment of beer steins on a tray. She did so with grace, not spilling a drop. Now Karen feared Jane’s speed and agility. Paul always recounted how Jane could leap in one direction to take down a zombie and instantly pivot and redirect back to their team formation.
The moans behind her grew to raspy growls as the bodies beat against the glass. Through the murk-stained glass, one of the undead’s eyes circled the room and focused on Karen. Its cheek was torn; its jaw was distended, teeth bared.
Karen pushed herself up, sidestepping Jane and the pool of blood, and for the hell of it, she gripped the door handle and pulled. “Of course it’s locked,” she said, leaning her head against the door.
She backed away and walked to the workbench full of assorted electronics. In front of a chair, a flat panel monitor sat, paired with a keyboard. She sat down tapping two random keys to bring it to life, and slowly, Greenport’s standard login prompt appeared, requesting a username and password.
Survivor Response Page 19
