by Davis, Barry
"I'll smother him."
"You sure you can do that?"
Mira kept her eyes steady on his. "I can do it."
"Anything created by his powers would die."
"Like Benjamin Wiley."
"And Mookie. Remember Hamid personally created him also."
Mira nodded. "And Manchester can concentrate on Jan Wiley and her child. What do you think about Manchester's idea to destroy Wiley's jet over the Pacific?"
"Yes. No offense but I have to assume that you fail. We need a redundant plan and that's a good one."
"Agreed. How will you take down the aircraft?"
"I'll need Manchester's help. He'll have to use some of your reversal bombs to convert Wiley's flight crew. Wiley uses the same team of zombie pilots out of Langley, the Alpha Bravo Tango team. Once converted they can secret a massive amount of C-4 onto the aircraft and enable the bomb to be detonated on my command."
"Your command?"
"Have it set to detonate by a sat phone call to Manchester's old cell number."
Mira nodded. "How will you get out?"
"They can bring aboard a parachute and leave it under one of the seats. Have it put in a silver case with a lock set to your birthday."
"You know my birthday?"
He leaned in and kissed her. "You mentioned it once. I haven't forgotten anything you've told me."
"How will you survive the blast?" She kissed him. "I can't bear to lose you again."
"They can set two bombs. The smaller bomb blows a hole in the fuselage two hours after we leave Hawaii. Once the plane blows and starts its descent I'll grab the parachute and jump out. The second larger blast could be set to occur three minutes after the first, giving me time to clear the aircraft before it disintegrates."
"And if Wiley somehow survives?"
"He'll be stuck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, even if you don't succeed."
'If you don't succeed' meaning she's likely dead.
"And we'll time this so that you are killing your grandfather shortly after the blast."
"It'll be easy for me to find out when your flight leaves Hawaii and time my visit to Hamid accordingly."
"Exactly."
"And Manchester can eliminate Jan and her child."
"Yes, like a tragic opera, a brutal culmination of this performance." He got to his feet and extended his hand.
She accepted the hand and stood in front of him. "We need to go back to the hotel separately. I'll remain out here for a while. You go ahead." She stood on her toes and kissed him.
"I'll see you when I can," he said. "I'll get you intel on the flight as soon as I know."
"I'm going to miss you," she said.
"Not for long," Elias replied. "After this is over you'll get sick of seeing this ugly face." He kissed her quickly then slowly walked away.
Not hardly, she thought, as she watched him grow smaller in the distance. Not hardly at all.
THIRTY-THREE
WASHINGTON DC – NOVEMBER 2012
Inside the Capital Hyatt Regency ballroom the crowd buzzed with anticipation. The networks, beginning with NBC as soon as the West Coast polls had closed, had called the election for Obama and Wiley. Ben Wiley was the Vice President elect of the United States of America.
They were waiting for the concession speech by the Republican candidate. In the candidate's suite were a select group – Wiley, Elias Turnbull, Mookie Sills, Becky Singler and, of course, the candidate's wife Jan.
They were arrayed about the room watching CNN. The cable titan was broadcasting from Romney's hotel, site of more of a wake than celebration, where the defeated candidate was about to take the stage.
Wiley looked at Elias. Elias looked back, unsure what he should say to the man.
Would zombie Elias smile? Would he recommend finding two virgins afterwards and having a late meal?
"We need to talk," Wiley said and he was on his feet. Elias, Mookie and Becky stood.
Wiley made eye contact with Singler. "Stay here and keep my wife company. This won't take long."
Stung, Becky Sings sat down. The fact that she was ordered to sit with another of Wiley's discarded human women doubled her pain. An image flashed in her brain from her childhood. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV during the Holidays, small hands gripping a cup of hot chocolate, eyes peeled enraptured the screen's magic.
The Island of Misfit Toys.
Elias followed Wiley into the suite's bedroom and the dangerous Sills trailed behind.
"I don't want Jan to hear this," he said and Elias let out a deep breath and relaxed. "Where are they with the space station?"
"I spoken to the astronauts, they have completed the construction of the deployment platform," Elias responded.
"Have they made arrangements to drop the station to the nearest possible lower Earth orbit?"
"Yes, it's all been programmed in for January twenty-eight, one week after inauguration."
"That's why I wanted to speak to you. I want to move up the timetable. We move on Obama after we return from China." He faced Mookie.
"Are you ready to proceed?"
"Ready, sir," the pimp and petty thief turned security czar responded.
He turned back to Elias. "There's no reason to wait. This evening has filled me with the desire for complete power, as soon as possible."
"I'll reach out to the station, find out what is possible."
"No, Elias. What is wrong with you? My second in command will tell them what I want and they will make it happen."
"Yes, sir. One week after China your bombs will blanket the Earth."
"Excellent, now let's go watch Romney cry like the little bitch he is." He laughed and the trio marched out of the bedroom.
While Wiley and his boys had their conversation Becky fumed. Any glance at Mrs. Wiley provoked a hate filled stare back at her. Becky stood, and despite Wiley's order, excused herself and left the suite.
She took the elevator down one floor to her room. She used the pass card to open the door and she walked into the bedroom. She reached under her bed and retrieved a leather satchel.
Inside was a square box made of glass.
Inside that sat a silver globe.
Becky undressed then carefully hung her blouse and skirt in the closet and laid her underwear on the bed. She sat on the floor and placed the glass box in front of herself. She pressed a button and the box opened. She eased the globe out of the box and within seconds she could hear the device open.
She lay back and welcomed the dozens of darts that penetrated her body. They hurt but she knew that, after this, she would feel no more pain. As the poison slowly killed her she smiled as she imagined the new life she would have with Ben Wiley.
Later that evening Wiley was alone in his suite. All the speeches had been given, all the media satisfied, at least for now. Mrs. Wiley had been ushered back to her home, her smiling presence no longer required.
Ben Wiley was low on energy and he needed his particular type of fuel – sex and human flesh. He waited in the suite while his trusted man Mookie Sills recruited a bounty of each. He rose to answer a knock on the door.
In the doorway stood Becky Sings. He noticed the change immediately.
"You've been converted. Who did that? I didn't authorize it."
She stepped past him, closed the door. "I did it to myself." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wanted to totally be on the team, Ben. I wanted to be all the woman you need." She leaped up and he cradled her bottom in his strong hands. They kissed and he walked them into the bedroom.
Afterward the pair lay in Wiley's bed. They each looked at the ceiling.
"I made a mistake didn't I? It's not the same."
Wiley shifted his eyes to her. He looked sad, nearly depressed if a dead man could conjure such emotions.
He nodded. "You shouldn't have done it. It was so good before. Now…you're just like the rest. My Becky Sings is gone."
She slid off the bed. "I'm sorry,
Ben. I'll get my clothes and leave. Of course I'll continue to do my job."
"I have another job for you."
"I won't be working directly for you anymore?"
"I have something more important. We'll talk tomorrow."
Becky nodded and left the bedroom, her clothes in her arms.
Dressed, she opened the front door of the suite only to be met by Mookie and a half dozen eager men and women.
She staggered down the hallway.
She could hear the muted screams as she stepped onto the elevator. Ben wasn't wasting any time.
She hit the button for her floor and wondered about the job Ben had for her. She tried and failed to be positive. It felt like, for her new zombie self, what it had felt like as a human: a brush-off. She had screwed up and he was getting rid of her. She needed to regain his confidence, his affections.
Back in her suite she sat on her bed – as a zombie she was no longer sleepy – and considered how to repair things.
Hours went by but she had no answer. She was now on the outside looking in and would remain that way forever. Just like the rest.
THIRTY-FOUR
WEST PHILADELPHIA – NOVEMBER 2012
In her Philadelphia apartment Mira ripped open the cream colored envelope with the White House return address.
Two months after Fiji, was this Elias' reaching out to her? Was the China trip's schedule finalized? It made sense – the election was two weeks ago and Wiley certainly had time to finalize his foreign plans.
She quickly read the note and her hopes deflated. It was merely a form letter thanking her for her support of the president and Mr. Wiley. The boilerplate mentioned all the good works that Obama would do in his second term.
She read it a second time, then a third. She looked for hidden meaning, intentional mistakes, anything that would be a secret message to her from Elias. There was nothing.
Had he been found out and turned again? It was possible. She and Manchester, via her Hidar relatives, had discussed that possibility after two months of not hearing from him. Their conclusion – if he had been converted they were totally fucked. Game over. Wiley wins. In less than a year the zombies will rule the Earth.
She took the letter in her hand, ready to ball it up and toss it in the trash. Her eyes caught on the signatures at the bottom – above 'President Barack Obama' was the informal signature 'Barack' in cursive. Above 'Vice President-elect Benjamin Wiley', instead of 'Benjamin' or 'Ben' signed in cursive above his typed name and title there was 'Benny'.
Since when did Wiley go by the name 'Benny'?
Mira examined the page again – front and back. Finally she had an idea – given this low tech means of communication perhaps he had hidden the message with disappearing ink.
She pulled out her tablet and fired it up. She typed 'disappearing ink reveal' into Google and after a half minute learned how to show the hidden message.
She used the heat method first by holding the page near a florescent light bulb. Nothing.
She next sat the page on her kitchen table. She found some white wine in her fridge and poured some into a small glass.
She dabbed a cotton ball into the wine and painted the back of the page. Halfway down the page words began to reveal themselves.
My darling I love you. I miss you so much. Must move faster. Timeline accelerated. Space station ready for bomb deployment early December. BO transformation after China. Atomic bomb deployment by Christmas. China set for 745AM departure on 1127. Wiley will use VC25A aka Air Force One. Obama's idea. Alpha Bravo Tango crew out, AF1 crew in. Must convert crew and security and ground crew, including ALL bomb sweepers. Andrews AFB. Planes under guard 24X7! Found plane schematics online. Place initial bomb to blow emergency door mid ship near galley. Have them place parachute below seat three rows away from bombed emergency door. Must bomb all three VC25A's just in case. As discussed set as trigger a call to Manchester's cell number. I will call with sat phone onboard to trigger first bomb. Will blow 2 hours after Hawaii departure. Second more powerful bomb to blow one hundred and eighty seconds later.
That's it. I LOVE YOU!! I will see you after this is all over. Otherwise, I will see you in Heaven or Hell. Good luck and God bless us all.
She read it twice, then again. Once committed to memory she tore the note into small pieces and flushed it down the toilet. She grabbed her pocketbook and her coat and flew out of her apartment. She took the steps several at a time and banged the building's front door open with both fists.
She swept up the street so fast – headed for the El station that would take her to the Amtrak trains pointed to New York – she did not notice the figure in the shadows across from her apartment building.
The creature masquerading as Mookie Sills gave it five minutes but he knew she was long gone. He had convinced Wiley that the girl needed watching and he was right. There were too many trips to New York when she should have been elsewhere doing her job. Obviously she was using her relatives to communicate with someone but whom? She wasn't talking to Elias – he was locked down tight under Wiley's security bubble. Was it Manchester Lee, who Mookie's security apparatus had observed with his punk ass zombie self?
Wiley should have dismembered the motherfucker long ago but he kept saying the man was 'small potatoes' or 'yesterday's news' every time Mookie suggested getting rid of him.
No, Wiley was so close to the presidency he could taste it. It was seriously affecting his judgment. Why, every time the man was in the same room with the First Lady he got a boner. His obsession with her was troubling. Instead of some high class poo-tang he should be worried about the Chinese, Russians and our very own president. Take care of business first, then wrap your lips around the First Lady's exceedingly muscular arms.
Mookie had no such fantasy – as a man and as a zombie he appreciated a woman with meat on her bones and that Michelle was too light in the britches for his taste.
He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the street. He casually climbed to the apartment door and entered the building with a key he had secured when the bitch had first rented the place. Inside he quickly climbed the stairs and used his key to her apartment door.
He lifted his nose to the air and took a deep breath. There was no smoke – a good sign for his purposes. She must have received a message to provoke her to tear out of the apartment like she did. Seeing that all her electronic communications were being monitored, the message must have been on paper. He searched for the message, on the theory that she would not have risked being caught with it on her person.
Since she didn't burn the message it could be only one of three places – hidden, in the trash or flushed down the toilet.
Mookie checked each of the trash cans then made a cursory sweep of the apartment, careful not to disturb her possessions. He found nothing.
On one of his earliest visits he had placed screens hidden in all her drains and her toilet. He checked the toilet drain pipe first.
On his hands and knees he took the toilet drain pipe in his powerful left hand. With a crisp twist of the pipe, the pipe segment separated from the drain pipe. He peered inside and smiled as the saw the wet paper lying against the screen.
He carefully shook the pieces out onto Mira's kitchen counter. He returned to the bathroom and reconnected the pipe segment.
He flushed the toilet to make sure that the pipe was watertight. No water leaked and he stood.
He made a circuit of the apartment to verify that nothing had been disturbed. Back in the kitchen he found a paper towel and went back to the bathroom to clean up the water dribbled onto the bathroom tile when he had taken apart the pipe.
He returned to the kitchen with the moist towel and placed the paper pieces on the towel. He folded the towel into a tight neat square and tucked it into his pants pocket. Finally he took one more paper towel to clean up the wet kitchen counter. Once done, he stuffed this towel in his coat pocket.
He looked around the apartment one more time and, fin
ding nothing out of place, left.
Later, looking down at the no longer secret message he pulled his cell from its waist holder.
"I need to talk to the man now," he said. He smiled. "I don't care if he is in a meeting in the Oval Office. Interrupt him. He needs to hear what I have to say."
Why would anyone make a zombie out of the Cake Boss? Manchester Lee kept asking himself that question as he rolled down I95 in one of the Carlo's Bake Shop vans heading south in a caravan.
He had found the Cake Boss, TLC superstar Buddy Valastro, making large cakes featuring human body parts in his shop in downtown Hoboken. Using reverse zombie bombs manufactured in the resistance's newly created lab in Quincy Massachusetts, he quickly converted Buddy and his cake wizards to the side of the good.
They were a bit disappointed – Manchester found that recovered zombies were a depressed lot generally – but willing to help end the scourge of Ben Wiley. After incinerating the unfortunate dead bodies in their kitchens, Manchester told Buddy and his crew of his plan. Enlisting the assistance of his ever present TLC film crew after bombing the zombified technicians to their senses, Buddy began to prepare the cakes, the most elaborate of his career. They were miniature models of Air Force One, the 1940's propeller version flown by FDR to Tehran – a fleet of ten, each capable of flight.
One sat in the rear of the van in which Manchester rode. If he had the sense of smell he could smell the fondant icing, rice crispy treat platform and pound cake airplane frame. What he could not smell – even if he still possessed the ability - were the dozens of reverse bombs secreted inside the plane's belly.
Jan Sugerfoot hung up the phone, felt her belly. She rubbed her stomach and the child growing inside her responded in kind, gently pushing against the protective walls of the womb. She felt she knew the child now and he knew her. She even named him – Alonzo Jesus Sugerfoot. She spoke to him often and he spoke to her, in his way.
She knew, now more than ever, that she could not fail.
