“So you’re not even going to try? Even if you only move out a few hundred thousand people, it makes a big difference in the math. That’s a few hundred thousand who won’t die, and who won’t be killing a handful of other people tomorrow, and the day after that. A few hundred thousand today, a million tomorrow, pretty soon you’re talking real numbers.”
“I know, Domino. But even though we know it’s not a plague, the decision-makers are worried about controlling panic and disruption in other cities. A half-assed evacuation would be bad optics at a national level.”
“Fucking optics? What the hell does that mean, Lowell? You convince everyone it’s just a Los Angeles problem, the rest of the country can still go shopping?”
“Something like that,” Lowell said. “I didn’t make the decision, Domino. And the few of us who know what’s really going on, we can’t prove this thing won’t spread. We can’t even fully disclose what’s causing it—not outside our little community of freaks. We’d be discredited and lose what little influence we have now.”
“So the people calling the shots don’t even really know what’s happening?”
“That’s right, Domino, they aren’t aware Los Angeles is being overrun by zombies because some ghost abducted all the psychopomps so a creep called La Calavera could run a supernatural dogfighting ring in the spirit world. Maybe you’d like to come to D.C. and testify before a Congressional hearing. Just don’t mention my name.”
“How much of it do the networks have?”
“Not much. Stag has put some juice into it. There have been urban legends about LSD in the water supply since the fifties, so we have plenty to work with. Speculation is more unconventional on the internet and blogosphere, of course. There are real zombies giving a play-by-play on Twitter.”
“Jesus Christ, okay, I’m hearing a hundred thousand. Does that match what you’ve got?”
“It’s a little more…it’s moving fast, Domino. That’s up from maybe thirty-five thousand twenty-four hours ago. Vigilantism and riots are a big multiplier now. People aren’t sure who’s a zombie and who isn’t.”
“Damn it, anyone who walks with a limp is probably getting gunned down. We haven’t been able to contain it at all?”
“Your people are doing a good job, but it’s getting away from them.”
“King Oberon can bring in a lot more…he’s got a nation on the other side. But he needs territory to support them. If I keep giving him L.A. real estate, all the outfits will end up working for the fairies.”
“I’ll run it up the chain of command, Domino, but I don’t think I can sell parceling out the sovereign territory of the United States to some fairy king. If it came to that, I think the decision-makers would rather give up L.A. They do still have the unconventional protocols.”
“Fire-bombing the city.”
“Yeah, but as unthinkable as that is for us, Domino, it’s a scenario with a manageable end-state. L.A. is destroyed, it’s the worst tragedy in our history, it’s crippling to the country…but it’s over. Oberon is a whole new open-ended crisis that no one knows how to manage. They’re not going down that road when there’s a clean way out.”
“You’re talking about murdering millions of people and calling it a clean way out.”
“They wouldn’t have to murder anyone,” Lowell said. “In a few days, there won’t be anyone left alive in Greater Los Angeles. They won’t call in the Air Force until then. Maybe they’ll even lock down the city and put boots on the ground. A couple hundred thousand combat troops should be able to clear it out in a year or two. Most likely, it’ll be a combined forces scenario and it’ll be over sooner than that.”
“We can’t let this happen, Lowell.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Tell me what you need.”
“This is a race. Between the Xolos, the outfits and the sidhe, we can drop zombies faster than they can kill people. Problem is, even if I throw open the door for Oberon, we’re outnumbered.”
“We need to minimize the zombies’ reproductive efficiency,” Lowell said.
“Right. If I can get even a thousand Xolos, gangsters and sidhe together, each dropping maybe ten zombies an hour, we can get ahead of it. But we have to control how quickly civilians are getting killed. The single best way to do that is to get them out of town. Just getting them away from the dense areas will help. Spread them out. Fewer live bodies means fewer zombies get made, and more slowly.”
“I’ll try.”
“You’re a fucking sorcerer, Lowell. Juice every motherfucker in the chain of command if you have to, just make it happen.”
“Okay.”
“Other than magic, is there any good way to put down a zombie?”
“Head shots work, the more extensive the brain trauma the better. Decapitation is best—some animation remains in the corpse, but the zombie is effectively neutralized.”
“So it might lie there and twitch a little, but you won’t get eaten unless you trip and fall on a head.”
“Yeah.”
“Then I want troops, Lowell. Send in some army guys with M-16s and machetes.”
“I can bring in a black ops task force,” Lowell said. “A couple hundred combat personnel. Support elements and maybe a few Black Hawks. Anything more and we can’t keep this dark, and Domino, we really don’t want that.”
“Whatever you can get.”
“I’m just not sure how effectively I can deploy my guys. I don’t want to send my teams on house-to-house search-and-destroy missions. It’s slow, it’s dangerous and there are going to be civilian casualties, which doesn’t exactly help our cause.”
“I can find targets for you.”
“How?”
“Banshees. They’ll identify targets and coordinate our efforts.”
“They can do that?”
“I hope so.”
The next call went to Chavez. “Tell me you rescued the dogs, chola,” he said when he picked up the phone.
“Yeah, but there are only a hundred of them, Chavez. They’ll never catch up on the backlog. We have to help them out.”
“We’re doing our best. All the bosses got their outfits on zombie patrol, except Terrence and Mobley.”
“I know, and we have to keep dropping zombies. But we’ve got to protect civilians, Chavez. The best way to slow down the zombies is to keep the living away from them.”
“How you want us to do that, chola? If we’re herding civilians, that’s going to slow us down on the zombie killing.”
“I want sanctuaries. You put civilians in every juice box we’ve got—every crack house, shooting gallery, tattoo parlor and strip club. You tune up the wards on them and put enough shepherds in there to keep the wolves at bay. The rest keep sweeping the streets, dropping bodies. You put them on rotation so everyone gets a rest. Everyone except the big hitters—they all stay on the street. The banshees are going to feed you target locations.”
Chavez whistled. “That’s good, chola. How do we let people know where to go?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about it, “we can put the word on the street, but the civilians won’t know the difference between a juice box and any other business. They could walk into a joint thinking they’re safe and get eaten by a stripper.”
“We have to mark them. We could decorate the sanctuaries with marigolds.” I knew what Chavez was thinking—marigolds were traditional for the Día de los Muertos celebrations.
“We’d need a lot of fucking flowers,” I said. “And what’s the point of getting all clever about it? These aren’t mindless zombies—they’ll clue in to the code soon enough.”
“That’s true, chola. What, then?”
“How about you just tag the juice boxes with the word sanctuary? If the zombies want to attack our strong points, I say let them come.”
“The smart zombies will set traps.”
“Oh, yeah. It has to be real tags, then—that’s the only thing a clever zombie wouldn’t be able to copy.”
>
“The juice boxes already got plenty of tags, chola. We can light them up, make them glow like neon. Our taggers can do that, easy—they learn that shit even before they know how to lay down a tag that can actually do something.”
“Yeah, that works. The taggers aren’t going to be any help killing zombies, anyway. Put them on it. Plus, it fits with the acid-in-the-water story Lowell’s pushing. Any reporters see that shit, they’ll just think they’re tripping.”
The line went silent for a few seconds.
“What is it, Chavez?”
“This is it,” he said. “We’re real soldiers, D. You talked about us becoming an army that could protect the civilians, but it was just talk before. Now it’s real.”
“I guess it is, Raffy. Are you ready?”
“I been waiting on you, chola. This shit feels pretty good.”
He was right. Even if no one thanked us for it, wearing the white hat for a change felt pretty damn good.
I’d encountered any number of law enforcement officers in my line of work, but only one of them knew who I was. Only one of them knew what I was. All the others got juiced and they wouldn’t have been able to pick me out of a lineup even if they somehow got me into one. Detective Meadows was different. She was a sensitive—an otherwise normal human who was tuned in to the supernatural world for whatever reason. She’d tried to put a case on me back in the day. That hadn’t worked out for her, but in the course of her investigation she saw enough to realize there were far worse things than me going bump in the night. I’d decided she could be useful to us, but more than that, I’d decided I liked her. Either one would have been enough reason not to put the hoodoo on her.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I asked when she picked up.
“I’m murder police, Ms. Riley. I was at a scene and the vic got up and ran off. Is it voodoo?”
“Different kind of zombies. The voodoo kind wouldn’t be eating folks. What’s the city doing about it?”
“It’s better than ninety-two,” Meadows said. “Or at least it would be if this was just a riot. The mayor imposed a curfew. The chief declared a tactical alert and activated the Emergency Operations Center. Patrol officers are being issued tear gas and body armor. And Metro Division has been deployed. That’s SWAT.”
“Thanks, Meadows, I actually know quite a lot about you people. Are they fighting the zombies?”
“Not on purpose. B and C Platoons are on riot response and crime suppression missions. You know, they aren’t actually aware that zombies are causing most of the rioting. At least they weren’t—there have been some incidents and rumors are starting to fly. The water-supply story is good but it’s starting to get pretty thin. Otherwise, LAFD is fully mobilized and they’re getting mutual aid support from LASD. The governor called in the National Guard at the mayor’s request, but they haven’t shown up yet.”
Getting L.A.’s Fire Department and Sheriff’s Department involved sounded like a pretty efficient response to a riot. It might even have worked if the actual rioting hadn’t been occurring within the context of a full-scale zombie apocalypse. “Everyone who dies is getting back up with a hankering for brains, Meadows. That will include state and municipal government employees. I don’t know enough to say whether the response will break even or not.”
“There’s not much I can do about it anyway,” Meadows said, “but we probably come out ahead. Frankly, we’re leaving the large concentrations for the Guard. From what I’ve seen, it’s not as easy as you’d think for a zombie to take down a victim, especially if they’re armed and trained. Like I said, even the firefighters and paramedics have tactical support. No one’s taking any chances and attrition should be pretty low, at least for now.”
“Okay, there’s rumors going around anyway, maybe we can use that. You want to go for head shots, Meadows. Or decapitation, but cops probably aren’t geared up for that. Do enough damage to a zombie’s brain, it goes down. It won’t destroy it, exactly, but it’ll take it out of the game.”
“Those rumors have already started, but I’ll help them along. It’s like the movies.”
“I guess, but that’s the only part that’s like the movies. A zombie—at least a fresh one—will be as smart as it was in life, just a lot crazier. Some will be armed. And this isn’t a plague, so don’t start shooting each other just because someone gets bitten.”
“What are your people doing?”
“We’re putting these motherfuckers down, but it’s going to take a while. We figured out what caused it and made it right, so if we can get ahead of it everything will eventually be back to normal. But in the meantime, we have to clear out the existing zombie inventory and stop them from making more.”
“What caused it?”
“You really don’t want to know, Meadows. The outfits are setting up sanctuaries on our territory. You see glowing tags, it’s our joint and we can protect you there. Help us put the word out. Most of our action is in the city so this won’t help much out in the ’burbs, but the densest areas will also have the biggest zombie problem.”
“You’ll expose yourselves. You’re not going to be able to stay hidden after this.”
“Don’t be so sure. We’ll juice everyone who comes in a sanctuary. Anyone starts making noise, making people ask questions or think too much, we’ll put the hoodoo on them, too. And at the end of the day, civilians believe what they want to believe. You tell them it was acid in the drinking water—oh sure, they knew that kinda thing was happening all along.”
“Well, might be you’re right about that,” Meadows said. “Folks don’t look too hard at what they don’t want to see anyhow.”
“Did you get your family out of town, or are they still in Inglewood?”
“What do you know about my family? And how did you know I live in Inglewood?”
“Stupid question, Meadows. If they’re still in town, make sure they know where to go, okay? We’ll do our best to take care of them. You can trust me on this.”
“I do. My husband’s a paramedic. Might be what you’ve told me will save his life. Thank you.”
“Okay, do what you can to spread the word the outfits are on the side of righteousness in this thing. We can do a lot but we’ll do it better if Five-oh can give us some space.”
“Are we going to make it through this?” Meadows asked. “Tell me the truth, Riley—should I punch out and spend some time with my family?”
I hesitated before answering. “I like our chances, Detective, but I can’t say they’re a whole lot better than fifty-fifty. There are a lot of them, and as for our plan, we’re pretty much making this shit up as we go along. A lot has to go right and a lot could go wrong. The truth is, I need your help, Meadows. But if I were you? I’d be with my family. I’d lock the doors and keep them close and I’d spend every hour like it was the last.”
There were still people I needed to talk to, but I couldn’t do it on the phone. I went over to the corner of the room where I’d deposited my old black-and-white TV set and switched it on. The tube gradually warmed up and my jinn familiar appeared on the tiny screen.
“Dominica, you’re alive!” he said with mock enthusiasm. Then his face relaxed into its usual expression of bored contempt. “Oh, that’s right. Zombies are no threat to the brainless.”
“I’m laughing on the inside, Mr. Clean.”
“I’m caring on the inside.”
“I need your help with the zombies.”
“I already informed you, I do not know what is causing the dead to walk. I speculated that it might be a viral outbreak, and though you demonstrated a certain lack of enthusiasm for my wisdom, you agreed to provide me with three score egg rolls from Shanghai Lucky Chow.”
“It was three dozen.” Mr. Clean apparently really liked egg rolls. It was probably the only thing we had in common. “And yeah, your wisdom was nowhere to be found on that one, but that’s not what I want from you. I need to know if you can help me drop some zombies.”
&
nbsp; “They’re humans. I can slaughter them like lost sheep.”
“Can you free their spirits?”
“No,” said Mr. Clean, “I can slaughter them like lost sheep.” He raised a large, wickedly curved scimitar and showed it to me. It gleamed, even in black and white.
“It would be better if you could free their spirits,” I said.
The jinn shrugged and the scimitar disappeared. “Still, I’m interested.”
“What do you offer? The timing is rather inconvenient.”
“Fine, why don’t you go back to watching Baywatch reruns,”
I said.
“Baywatch isn’t on. There’s nothing but news reports, though I am enjoying the coverage.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. “What do you want, Mr. Clean? Time is a factor, here.”
“I want you to cook for me.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll cook naked. I hope you like frozen burritos.” I needed to wrap this up, and he could probably spy on me in the shower, anyway.
“I already spy on you in the shower,” said the jinn. “This will be a bounty. One meal for every head I bring you.”
“One meal for every zombie head. I deduct two meals for every head that doesn’t blink or try to bite me. And you’re back in the box when I say so.”
“Done,” said Mr. Clean. “You will likely wish to arrange warehouse space.”
“What? Why?”
“The heads,” said the jinn. “There will be thousands of them.” Mr. Clean grinned and the screen filled with static.
Traffic in Hollywood is usually insane even without a zombie apocalypse underway. I spun my traffic spell and wove my way slowly through the gridlock to the Carnival Club. I parked on the street and went inside. The club was full and I was the only human in the place. No one was partying—the sidhe were all armed and formed up in orderly ranks, receiving orders from their commanders. I found Oberon sitting with Titania in a booth in the VIP section. I slid into the booth and picked up the bottle of tequila waiting for me on the table. I looked at the simple parchment label and whistled.
Skeleton Crew Page 19
