by Paul Seiple
"It's a homeless guy," Nick said. "Sorry, buddy, we don't have any food."
Q pressed his palms to the ground to force himself up. The man grabbed his ankle, pulling Q's footing from him.
"You...'re... fo...ood."
The man pulled Q's leg toward his open mouth. Q planted the heel of his foot against the man's forehead, snapping his head back with a sickening crack. Q jumped to his feet.
"He's infected," Q said.
The man struggled to his knees. His head swayed from an obvious broken neck. He reached for Q again. Q stepped back. The man fell forward.
"What the hell do we do?" Nick asked.
Q picked up a piece of a broken liquor bottle. "Step on his back."
"What?"
"Just step on his fucking back."
Nick didn't question Q again. He placed a foot between the man's shoulder blades. Q took a deep breath and jammed the glass through the base of the man's skull. Blood splattered against Nick's boot.
"Shit, Q, is it contagious? Get it off my fucking boot."
Q took a few deep breaths. "It's airborne. Just pray you don't already have it."
Twelve
Herschel Stephens paced the Oval Office. Since his early twenties, his goal was to end up here, as president. And now that he was the leader of the free world, there were multiple targets on his back. The media would scrutinize his every move. America's enemies would test his resolve, but the target he feared most had no face, no voice.
The clean-up crew did a good job of erasing the horrors from a few hours earlier, but the faint smell of blood, the taste of iron on his tongue every time he inhaled, reminded Stephens that he needed to watch his back at all times. He agreed to Turner's plan because it was the only way he would ever become president. Stephens's political lineage ran deep. His father was a former secretary of state. His grandfather was a well-respected Florida senator for a good part of the seventies and eighties. Stephens's brother was the governor of Florida. Stephens went further down the political path than anyone in his family, yet he was viewed as incompetent by his father and brother. He lucked into the vice-presidency thanks to his friendship with Robert McClain. His family was right; Stephens wasn't qualified to be president, but there was no time to debate that now.
"You ready?"
Stephens nodded.
"You have to be more convincing than that when you address the people."
"I know, Alan. I just…what really happened here? I know the plan was to remove Bob. But James died too. And Chuck."
It's best if you only know the story you're giving the public. That leaves no room for a flub," Deputy Director of the FBI, Alan Dawson said. "Chuck O'Connell assassinated President McClain and died in an exchange of gunfire with Turner, who also succumbed to injuries."
"Is anyone going to believe that?"
"Well, Herschel, it's your job to make them believe it. Do it, and convince me you're capable of running this country during a crisis."
"Are you at least going to tell me what's making people sick?" Stephens asked.
"If I knew, I still wouldn't tell you. Right now, your only objective is to make the American people feel safe. Let me handle everything else,” Deputy Director Dawson said.
"Kidnapping a reporter on live television isn't helping me make people feel safe," Stephens said.
"What are you talking about, Herschel?"
"Your agents interrupted a live news feed to arrest a reporter. They weren't gentle about it."
Dawson stood silent as if confusion sucked the words from his mouth.
"You didn't know? Are you sure you're in charge of the FBI?" Stephens picked up a remote, turned on a television, and played a recording of Emily Morgan being arrested.
"I didn't order that."
"Well, someone at the Bureau did," Stephens said.
Stephens paused the recording as a hand reached for the camera. The shine from a silver cufflink drew Dawson's attention. It was in the shape of an owl.
"Those aren't my men," Dawson said.
Those were his men. He regretted they weren’t more inconspicuous about taking Emily Morgan. More importantly, Dawson hoped he had convinced Stephens that he didn’t know why she was taken.
Thirteen
"Hey, assholes, I've been locked in here for six hours. I need coffee, and I need to pee," Emily Morgan said, banging against the door. "I have rights, you bastards."
The door knob turned. Emily stepped back.
"You have a filthy mouth, don't you, young lady."
The tall, older man with perfectly parted silver and black hair stepped into the room. Emily was a bit of a fashionista. She eyed the man's Brooks Brothers suit, pausing to check out the owl tie clip affixed to his purple and black tie.
"Flattery will not get you on my good side. Technically, you kidnapped me."
The man laughed. "Traitors have no rights, Miss Morgan. It is miss, isn't it?"
"I've heard about you old perverts and your sexual harassment bullshit. So, don't even think about hitting on me."
The man sat in a chair opposite of Emily. He pulled an apple from his jacket and rubbed it against his sleeve.
"Are you familiar with the story of Adam and Eve, Miss Morgan?" He took a bite of the apple.
Emily exhaled. "I'm really going to need coffee if you're going to tell me a Bible story."
The man took another bite from the apple. "God forbade Adam and Eve from eating the apple."
He took another bite. His chewing was loud, wet, and sloppy. Emily turned away. The sound made her just as queasy as the sight.
"The serpent persuaded them to defy God's order and eat the apple. It's known as the Fall of Man. One little succulent bite." He bit the apple again. "And God took immortality off the table."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Emily asked.
The man tossed the apple into a trashcan. "It's also referred to as the Original Sin. One little bite and sin took over the world."
"This is a joke, right? I'm being pranked."
The man cleared his throat.
"What did you see at the Huntington Hills crime scene, Miss Morgan?"
"I didn't see anything. I couldn't get close."
"Why did you mention cannibalism?"
"I’m a reporter. When someone eats someone else, that's breaking news."
"What makes you think anyone was eaten?"
"What did you say your name was?" Emily asked.
"I didn't. Now, answer the question."
"Oh, Jesus. Okay. I was hiding behind a dumpster. I heard two cops talking about the crime scene. I didn't see anything."
"But you thought it was appropriate to report fake news?"
"Fake news? I heard cops talking about a man being eaten. That is not fake news."
"Miss Morgan, there isn't a cannibal running loose in the streets of Charlotte, North Carolina. The victim was murdered by his girlfriend. She attempted to dismember him. It must have been too much, so she ran."
Emily didn't believe the man. The cops weren't lying, but she played along in hopes of getting her freedom back.
"Wow. Maybe I heard it wrong," Emily said, there was subtle remorse in her tone.
"You heard what you wanted to hear."
Emily bit her lip. "I don't get what this has to do with Adam and Eve."
The man stood up and smiled. "Fake news, Miss Morgan. Fake news. I'm an atheist."
"All right, you got me. I've learned my lesson. Can I get out of here now?"
"I'll get you some coffee and make sure you get regular bathroom breaks."
"Wait…you're keeping me here?"
"You have a penchant for spreading fake news. There are very real threats in the world. We must focus on those and deter fear mongering."
"Son-of-a-bitch."
"No, Miss Morgan, that is not my name. It's Mitchell. My friends call me Mitch."
"And what do your enemies call you?"
Mitch's hand froze on the doorknob mid-tu
rn. He kept his back to Emily. "I wouldn't suggest joining the group of people who call me enemy." He opened the door. "It never works out well for them."
Fourteen
"Why don't you let me take the wheel for a while? You have to be tired," Q said.
"You don't know where we are going," Nick said.
"You could tell me?"
"I'm not totally sure how to get there without Google maps. I don't know how they found me. Maybe they tracked maps. I can't take any chances."
Q looked at Nick's phone propped up on the cracked dashboard. "Maybe it's the game."
"Impossible. Even if Turner found someone to hack into the game, there is no way they are tracking me through it. You can't buy this version in the app store. It's a developer's version. The code is different. They can't hack what they don't know exists."
Q picked up Nick's iPhone. A sound effect resembling footsteps from a horror movie resonated from the speaker. It was followed by a brief vibration and a pop-up bubble with text.
For 150 Party Cred Points, answer the following question. YES or NO?
"Party Cred?" Q asked.
"The game has different categories. Party Cred is like pop culture. Just hit YES,"
"I don't feel like playing games, Nick. I need to find Carolyn."
"We need to do a lot of things, Q. Entertain me, make me forget we killed a zombie last night."
"Zombies are already dead."
"Just hit YES, Q."
Q tapped YES and read the question aloud. "Who was the musical guests on Paul Lynde's 1976 Halloween special?"
"KISS," Nick said.
Q put the phone back on the dashboard without answering the question. "This is pointless."
There was beep warning Q he only had thirty seconds to answer the question.
"Just turn the damn game off, Nick. I'm sure you can give yourself as many Inklings as you want."
A sound resembling Morse code coincided with three quick flashes from the camera's phone.
"That's James," Nick said.
Nick pulled the car into an abandoned shopping center parking lot and picked up the phone.
"Ask him about Carolyn," Q said.
Nick read the text.
Still alive. On the move. I will let you know more when I'm settled.
Nick typed back.
On the move too. They found the cabin. Need to meet. I have information from Black Dog.
Nick waited about two minutes before another text came through.
Not safe to meet yet. What info?
Nick typed.
Q Warren went to Black Dog. He got Bob's journals and hard drives from Hendricks's computers.
Nick waited for the next text.
Is Q with you? How did he get the hard drives?
"He wants to know how you got the hard drives?" Nick asked.
"Some guy named Grish gave them to me before Knox killed him," Q said.
Nick typed.
Guy named Grish gave them to him. Black Dog was ambushed. Q was the only one who made it out.
Nick waited. This time, it took nearly five minutes for a response.
Stay safe. I'll be in touch when I can.
Nick stared at the phone without any reaction.
"What did he say? Ask him about Carolyn?" Q asked.
"He's gone."
"What do you mean he's gone? That's bullshit, Nick."
Q ripped the phone from Nick's grasp and read the message.
"He'll get back in touch. We have to find out what's on those hard drives," Nick said.
"Let's do it fast. I need answers. Where are we going?"
"The safest place I can think of...Black Dog," Nick said.
Q laughed. "Oh, yeah, really safe. I was nearly killed there. Everyone who lived there is dead…"
Nick cut Q off. "It's a good thing the man of medicine has a creative geek like me to keep him alive. Think about it. They think you're dead. They know the town is a wasteland. There is a very real possibility that a virus that causes living, breathing humans to turn into zombies is floating around the air. No one is vacationing in Black Dog. It's our safest bet."
He's right, Q thought. "All right, but there's no electricity. How do you plan on checking the hard drives?"
"How much cash you got?"
"Maybe fifty bucks," Q said.
"I've got about a hundred on me. We need food, hard drive enclosures, and gas. Let's hope someone in Black Dog had a generator, and it still works."
"I've got my American Express," Q said.
"I see why you don't want to play a game called Nothing Common About Sense. Think, Q. If you use the card, they can track you."
"Wait." Q picked up Nick's phone. "They don't need to hack an app to track you. They can use cell towers."
Nick cut a sly grin. "Nice try. If they used my phone to track us, they're probably interrogating some homeless guy on South College now. I gave him the phone a few days ago before buying that." Nick pointed to the phone in Q's hand. "It's a burner."
"Expensive burner."
"Listen, leave the tech to me. I needed an iPhone because this version of the game only works on iOS."
Nick pulled the car into a Wal-Mart parking lot. He parked in the last spot. They were about a football field length away from the store.
"Worried about getting a scratch on this sweet ride?" Q asked.
"Are you sure you're a doctor? Walking is good for the heart. And we will need to build our stamina for this. OK, you get the food, and I'll check to see if they have the enclosures. We need a few gas cans too. I'll pick those up on my way out. Meet back at the car in twenty minutes."
Q opened the door. Nick grabbed his forearm.
"Get some Vanilla Wafers," Nick said.
"That's good for your heart?" Q said.
"It's comfort food."
Nick waited and cranked the engine when Q shut the door.
"Where are you going?" Q asked.
"Parking up front. I'm worried about your stamina. Not mine. I run three miles a day."
Nick pulled away and headed toward the store.
"I used to run five a day," Q mumbled under his breath.
Q fumbled with the carts much longer than necessary to find one that met his qualifications——four wheels had to roll and in the same direction. Once satisfied, Q wiped down the cart with an antibacterial wipe. Normally, he didn't go to that extreme. Q knew how to avoid getting sick, but this was different. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes went by, and he was still at the carts. Q was too preoccupied to notice Nick race by him to the electronics department.
Nick didn't like the odds of finding the hard drive enclosures he needed in Wal-Mart, but he hoped for the best. There wasn't time to put together an Amazon list, so he had to make do with what he found.
"Welcome to Electronics," an older gray-haired man said.
Nick threw up a wave and moved on to the aisle housing external hard drives. He paced up and down. There were no signs of the enclosures. Nick pushed a row of modems to the side to see if an enclosure was hiding behind them. No enclosure, but several of the modems hit the floor, drawing the attention from the older employee.
"Looking for anything special, young man? We're running a pretty good sale on modem-router combinations."
Nick ignored him and moved on to searching through the external hard drives.
"Good deals on externals too. That drive you're about to knock on the floor, and probably leave for me to pick up, has eight terabytes of storage and is cloud-based."
Nick stopped moving the boxes. He looked at the old man, focusing on his name tag.
"Benny, is it?"
The old man rubbed his name tag. "That's me."
"Well, Benny, you wouldn't happen to have any hard drive enclosures, would you?" Nick asked as he picked up the modems he knocked to the floor.
Benny flashed a grin, exposing a gold front tooth. "Next aisle, with the DVD-recorders. I've never understood why they didn't put them
with the hard drives, but, hey, I just work here."
Benny followed Nick to the next aisle.
"Sorry, no sale on those, but they aren't priced too bad."
"Is this all you have?" Nick asked, picking up two enclosures.
"Usually one is enough," Benny said.
"Had a couple laptops crap out on me at the same time."
Benny took an iPhone from his pocket and tapped the screen. "Looks like I may have one in the back that was returned."
"Can I buy that one too?" Nick asked.
"Sure. But full-disclosure, it's probably not going to work."
"I'll take my chances."
Benny nodded and walked toward the back of the store. "Back in a second."
A Breaking News report snagged Nick's attention. The ticker at the bottom of the screen read MAN MURDERS TWO IN NEW YORK CITY AND IS CAUGHT EATING THE BODIES. Nick moved closer to the television as a police officer approached a podium.
"First, let me say, I will not be taking questions. It's way too early to tell if this is related in any way to what happened on that bus the other day. I won't talk about this incident as the investigation is still in its infancy."
"Actually, I had two back there," Benny said. "Damn shame what's happening in New York."
Nick motioned for Benny to be quiet.
"The likelihood of these incidents being related to the new synthetic drug that's been turning up regularly is high. There is no need for panic, but if you encounter someone who…" The officer paused. "…looks a bit off and has a thin cloudy film over their pupils, do not engage and call 911."
"You want this other one? It looks pretty banged up, but I can give it to you with an out-of-box discount."
"Sure."
Nick pried his attention away from the television and reached for his wallet.
"Cash or charge?" Benny asked.
"Cash. What's the total?"
"Two at regular price. Two with the out-of-box discount. Comes to forty-nine dollars and eighty-seven cents."
Nick knew he still needed the gas cans and gas.
