Containment_A Zombie Novel

by B. A. Hippsley

  “Look man, we gotta cool it. With all that’s going down, it’s too risky.”

  “Ever thought of the upside Lukey boy?”

  “Huh?”

  “With all this ruckus going on, everybody’s taking on like a bunch of turkeys at Thanksgiving. I heard me that Eastman’s called a curfew in town. Know what that means?”

  The boy’s blank stare made it obvious that he did not. Zach continued, “It means we can do what the hell we like without any meddling from the law.”

  “Yeah, well what about that helicopter darn near buzzing us off the road. The cops are on to us, I tell you.”

  “You ever see a police helicopter all blacked out like that? That weren’t no cops.”

  “You reckon it’s something to do with all that crap in town?”

  “Maybe?”

  “Well we got to tell someone. Ain’t we?”

  Zach stopped the truck and looked at Luke.

  “The wind only gotta change and we get the blame. It’s about time we got something for nothing. Right now, nobody gives a damn about us. We start blabbing and we got us half the town up here.”

  Zach didn’t want to spend the coming winter up in the mountains. With just a couple more deals they’d have enough cash to get away for a few weeks, even months. But first they had to deliver the merchandise.

  “A couple more jobs then we made enough to take a vacation somewhere warm. You’d like that, little brother.”

  “What we gotta do?”

  “A day back I swung past the Woodridges’ place. Mike Woodridge got himself a new Dodge parked up. I didn’t see nobody about no lights no nothing. I reckon they gone someplace else.”

  “So why’d they leave the truck there?”

  “Who knows? I reckon we slip by there tonight and have a darn good look. We can have that truck re-sprayed with new plates by tomorrow.”

  “A vacation? You really mean that? Anywhere we like… then how about Disney?”

  Zach looked over at his brother and smiled. He could think of other places than Disney, but what the hell; at least Orlando had nice weather.

  ****

  Taylor sat on the edge of his bed, looking at Eastman and Dr Lenski who in turn sat looking at him, like a Mexican standoff from one of his favourite movies. They were just behind the red safety line, the area deemed safely out of reach from those in the cells. At least with the good doctor in tow, Eastman would have to behave himself, no more Magnums. However, if he wanted to get out, Taylor would still have to win this man over. After an awkward interval, Eastman spoke first.

  “Okay Mr – Taylor, we’re gonna ask you some questions. Dr Lenski wants to ask about a whole bunch of medical stuff. You will cooperate. Are we clear on that?”

  “Mr Taylor, you told the Sheriff that the condition of these people was the result of some ‘failed’ cure; a cure for what?”

  Taylor slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead with a resounding whack.

  “Do you still think these things are people? Worse, you think you can cure them – is that it? There is no cure! Lady, you can forget AIDS, Ebola damn it, even cancer. When you get this thing, it gets you – The End!”

  “How do you know, are you a doctor?”

  “If the people who invented this crap couldn’t find a cure how the hell are you?”

  “What is this disease? I mean do you know how it works?”

  “I’ve already told you how it works.”

  “Yes, I know about how people become infected, but how can I treat it?”

  She needed to know about the symptoms, how the infection worked, how long before the infection took hold and many other questions. If she was to stand any chance in fighting this appalling thing, she needed to know what it was.

  “I’m no doctor; I can only tell you so much. Once they’re infected, they get flu-like symptoms, then this fever sets in, like no other you’ve seen. They just burn up in front of you. Some dip into a coma and by the time they wake it’s too late.”

  “I seen somebody get infected and almost instantly, they got up and went for someone. Now there was no darn coma there, mister!”

  “Depending on the severity of the wound they can transform within minutes but it’s never longer than three days. The closer the injury to the brain, the quicker they change.”

  “Why the brain?”

  “The doctors said the virus makes its way to the brain. In military terms, take the command centre out and you win the battle.”

  “Did ZerTon try to find a cure for this?”

  “Sure Doc, but there wasn’t one. As soon as you get infected, the virus attacks the organs, and by the time you turn, your insides are just a bag of mush.”

  Anne Lenski sat forward pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing deeply. The stark reality hit her. Brad and the others had been right the whole time; these things were no longer people. How could she have been so dim for such a long time? It was obvious that such tissue damage had to be terminal; she’d thought it was just the dead ones she’d examined, but all the infected were like it?

  “How are they able to keep moving in such a state?”

  “They take a lot of structural damage; you can pump holes in them or blow bits off, but you take out the brain and that’s it, game over. Like I said Doc, ‘command centre’.”

  Since the first time Eastman had met Taylor, he’d watched his reactions all through the question sessions; this man had hardly given away a thing. Although Taylor was very good, every now and again he’d let his guard down. Eastman had seen a chink in his armour. He didn’t buy this guff about Taylor and the creatures turning up at the same time as a coincidence. Eastman needed more information on the man himself, what made him tick, where he came from and what he really wanted in Armstrong.

  “Okay, you said you were a PI on a mission. Start convincing me that’s all true.”

  Taylor held his head in his hands, shut his eyes and allowed himself to drift back to the point when it had all begun.

  There was no way in hell this cop could ever understand...

  ****

  Taylor entered the large, brightly decorated room. It looked more like the office of a law firm than a private investigator. His feet sank into the plush blue carpet as he walked across to the desk. Gary Richmond was sitting behind his green leather-bound desk. His expensive Italian suit served as a stark reminder to Taylor that now Richmond was the boss. Just behind Richmond, there hung a large, wooden-framed photo of their old unit.

  Richmond had been in his unit for some time before leaving to set up an investigation service. He was now well connected and established. In the beginning it had just been good fun. Taylor had offered his military skills in surveillance and observation to whomever of Richmond’s clients wanted them. As the clients got bigger, so did the money, but it was never really about the money with him, it was the excitement he thrived on. He loved it.

  “Sit your bones down Brent,” said Richmond, ushering him to a seat.

  Taylor sunk into the chair and let its extravagance swallow him up. This was the sort of chair you could sleep in. He studied Richmond’s face. His dyed blonde hair made a sharp contrast to his deep tan and since their last meeting; Taylor noted that he’d had his teeth whitened.

  “We got us a mission. A real mission. Interested, Captain?”

  It had been a long time since someone had called him that. He nodded his head. Richmond continued.

  “This isn’t cheating wives or husbands, this is serious Intel gathering. We’ve a new client. A big pharmaceutical outfit wants the low down on a competitor. Industrial espionage. I’ve hit the big time, buddy. These guys are loaded.”

  Taylor could almost see the dollar bills in Richmond’s eyes. He knew pharmaceuticals were big business, but it was the thrill of a real covert operation that interested him the most. He sat further back in his seat and placed his arms on the arm rests.

  “Okay. What do they want?”

  Richmond opened
a suitcase and handed him a thin red plastic file.

  “This is ZerTon. These guys are so sharp they’ve got all the big boys worried. You get inside; grab as much info as you can then bring it back here.”

  “How do I get in and how’d I know what to look for?”

  “We’ve got a guy on the inside; you meet up with him and he’ll tell you what you’re after. There are plans and blueprints of the whole place in this file. You just got to find where to get in.”

  “What’s it about? I mean do we know?”

  “It’s a need to know operation Brent, but I can say that ZerTon are on the brink of a big cure. It’ll be like the old days, you’ll see. But I tell you, this thing is global and we got us a piece of the action. It’s a walk in the park.”

  ****

  Clara’s voice cut through on Eastman’s radio set, “Brad, do you read. Over?”

  “Yes, go ahead. Over.”

  “I had a call from Wal-Mart; they got themselves some kind of incident. Over.”

  Eastman looked uneasily at Anne. “What kinda incident. Over?”

  “I don’t know. They lost contact before they could tell. Over.”

  “Okay, send the nearest unit. Over.”

  “Sorry Brad,” her tone sounded anxious as she continued, “Jedrey left with Frank, Kate is at a traffic accident and Mitch is the other end of town. You’re the nearest. Over.”

  “Yeah, copy that. I’m on my way but Clara, dispatch those other units, I may need back up. Out.”

  “Brad, why don’t you wait for the others? I mean it would be safer if there’s trouble.”

  She was right of course, but he couldn’t risk anyone’s safety. If it was real trouble, he needed to get there fast. He couldn’t hang around for the others; they’d have to join him.

  “Anne, we’re done for now. I don’t want you here with him on your own. Best leave and I’ll catch you later.”

  Anne collected her notes as she left with Eastman. Taylor pondered whether he’d ever see either of them again.

  Chapter - Fifteen

  Benny Arnold’s office was perched on the third floor of the Wal-Mart store, overlooking the town of Armstrong. The office was a small rectangle with white painted walls and a green carpet – utterly functional. Benny Arnold normally regarded this as his boardroom, his seat of power, but not today. The imposing form of Sheriff Eastman strode into the room, talking on his radio.

  Benny Arnold was a tall, thin man. His pasty complexion and greying hair made him look much older than he was. He’d started on the bottom rung of the ladder but had always been in the right place at the right time, and over the years had progressed to assistant manager. When the previous manager Alan Barns, was re-located to another store, Arnold had been appointed temporary manager. Shortly after, his position had been made permanent, a fact which somehow he’d never quite taken in. However, being in charge often brought unexpected responsibilities.

  The trouble had started just after the store opened this morning. There’d been a large crowd outside since first light, waiting for the doors to open. Benny watched on the CCTV as people raced about the half empty aisles, anxiously searching the bare shelves. Jane Pready, the floor supervisor had tried to calm the situation but then Paul Washington became abusive. Arnold and his security man, Joe Levine had arrived and called for the police.

  “No Clara, it’s under control here,” said Sheriff Eastman. “Some folk got a bit hot headed, that’s all. Kate’s out front with the volunteers. Over.”

  “Do you want any more back up? Over?”

  “Negative. No sense in any more guns down here. Out.”

  Eastman advanced on Arnold and leant on his desk, glowering at him. Arnold found it impossible to hold the other man’s glare; he averted his eyes. He felt threatened and uncomfortable, feelings that he was unused to having in his insular domain, atop the world.

  “Benny, what in hell were you thinking?”

  “Now take it easy Brad,” Arnold tried to assert himself, “this is all legal, no law’s been broken here.”

  “Let’s just leave the law to me shall we? You and I got family and friends out there who can’t get the things they need. Why? Because you sold it all to Peter damn Firth...” Eastman slammed his hat onto the desk.

  “…and you wonder why you had a riot here?”

  “It was a legal transaction, it isn’t my prob –”

  “It sure as hell is your problem. The next time you got a shop full of Paul Washingtons wanting stuff you don’t have, you tell them it was a ‘legal transaction.”

  “I just never thought of it like that.”

  “Benny, you’re not talking some cotton candy here. If it hits the fan, and I reckon it will, then people will want all kinds of supplies, supplies which Firth will charge the earth for.”

  Arnold put his hand to his head and slumped back in his chair. Firth had turned up with five grand in cash and bought everything from duct tape to cordless screwdrivers and then some. It had been obvious that Firth was intending to make money but Arnold hadn’t made the connection. It wasn’t as if he could order up replacement fresh stock. It had gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “If I could get it all back,” he said, shrugging despondently, “but I can’t.”

  Eastman rubbed his fingertips over his chin in a circular motion. “Perhaps you can’t but I sure as hell can. Where’d he take that stuff?”

  “I got no idea.”

  “Who’d he have with him, did you see anyone?”

  “He was on his own. Is it important?”

  “Nope, I’ll just have to make a house call that’s all.”

  “Brad, what should I do with the rest of the stock we got left?”

  “We gonna have to talk about emergency rations. Start getting all the shop owners together to see what we can do.”

  He watched as Eastman left the room. If the guy was going to pay Firth a house call, then Firth best be elsewhere.

  ****

  As Benteen and Eddy Joe drove the department’s four-by-four past Ben’s house, Benteen shook his head in disbelief. It was still hard to think of Ben and Erin dead, especially the way they’d died. He wondered what would happen to their farm. As far as he knew, the pair had no living relatives in the area. Something like this was bound to make a man question his own mortality. Benteen had no folks left, at least none that he knew of. What would happen to him, when he was gone; would anyone even care?

  Eddy Joe nodded at the farm.

  “It’s hard to take in what happened to Erin and Ben. I mean, the way she turned on him like that.”

  “That wasn’t Erin or Zoë last night. They were God damn monsters.”

  It was clear to Benteen that the real cause of all this bedlam was that bum in the cells. All this had started with his arrival. Even if Brad had been taken in, Benteen didn’t believe a word of it. If he was ever alone with that nut, then he’d make him pay. Clenching hard on the wheel, he turned left and led his small two-vehicle convoy past the barn. Just ahead, he could see Firth’s motley crew parked up; everybody was out and looking towards the tree line.

  Benteen stopped his four-by-four and looked at Eddy Joe. “Grab your M16 and get the guys out.”

  “Gerard, do you reckon they got one of them things?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

  The whole area was tranquil, soft rolling green pasture led down to the shallow river. The only discernable sound was the hum of men’s voices. Eddy Joe gathered the group to him and Benteen cast his eye over his posse: Austen Colt, Ray Johnson, Ramon Tuco, Ethan Mason, Boulle and even Preacher Goodman. So at least they had God on their side. Satisfied that everyone was present, Benteen beckoned with his hand for them to follow, covering the ground in great strides towards the other group.

  Boulle caught Benteen’s attention; he was a rough kind of guy, powerfully built, in his late thirties with short black hair. He was one of those guys Benteen just did not get. The
man was a no seeker; he was the last person Benteen would’ve imagined to be in something like this. Some years back, Boulle had thrown his lot in with Peter Firth, but they’d had a falling out and now they hated each other. Boulle had no real interest in the community and yet here he was, a volunteer, looking for Peter Firth’s nephew.

  Preacher Goodman was an altogether different character. He was well known and much liked in the community. A young man with a wise head on his shoulders; he’d come from Houston, some years back and taken over from Preacher Hall. He’d thrown himself into his work and although he was from the ‘God squad,’ even Benteen got on with him.

  “Well Mayor, where’s this guy?”

  Firth pointed to an area just beyond the tree line.

  “Jim-boy saw one of those things just over there.”

  “Well I thought I did,” interrupted Jim-boy uncertainly.

  Firth continued, “Some of the guys wanted to take a look. I said we’d best call you.”

  “Sure done the right thing. Me and Eddy Joe will take it from here. You guys can carry on with the search.”

  Benteen started forward with the other deputy then Firth suddenly caught his arm. “Look, far be it for me to interfere, but I reckon that’s kinda dangerous?”

  “How so?”

  “It don’t make any sense you two risking your lives when you got all of us as back up.”

  “Yeah, I mean what if there’s more than one?”

  Benteen looked at Roody Goldsmith, his thin frame poorly suited to such an exercise. He was more at home in the town hall than hunting. Sure, he was sporting a powerful hunting rifle with a scope that cost more than a week’s wages, but the guy was a Sunday shooter. There was certain logic to what Goldsmith said, but out of all the men there were only a few he’d trust not to shoot each other.

  “Okay, we’ll search in an extended skirmish line, no more than four feet between each man. I don’t want no safety catches off, or weapons cocked, or your butts will feel my boots.”