by JE Gurley
“We risk our lives every day. I must admit to a certain amount of curiosity, but as you Americans are fond of saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’.”
“Those creatures murdered Meara,” Nabors reminded them. She did not hide the bitterness in her voice. “We should kill them.”
“Maybe, or maybe it was another group like he said. I don’t know. These zoms seem different somehow. I do know that after we fire the first shot, we’re dead. We have three choices: We can stay here, risk the storm, and hope they don’t attack; we can head out, risk the storm, and hope they don’t attack; or we can go with them and hope they don’t attack.”
“None of which are very appealing,” Antonov replied with a humorless chuckle.
“A couple of us could go and see what this is all about while the rest of you remain here,” he suggested. It was not a chance he wanted to take, anything could happen, but it only seemed right to allow everyone to choose for themselves, a brief resurgence of democracy.
“No,” Antonov answered. “We should all go or all stay. Separating could be dangerous.”
Jeb looked at everyone to gauge their reactions. A few faces turned away. He had been making the decisions since leaving Biosphere2. Some hadn’t been the right ones, like choosing to rest up in Telluride, but no one else seemed willing to make the hard choices.
“Okay, we go with them. Keep your weapons handy, but for God’s sake don’t pull the trigger.”
Karen glared at him but said nothing. Her hatred of zombies exceeded his own and her decision to go surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had refused. It took them ten minutes to pack their supplies. He walked out first, stopping a few paces beyond the porch.
“You must leave the vehicles,” Brother Malachi said. “The noise and the smell of burning fuel confuse the Children.”
“We might need them,” Jeb protested. “Besides, you look like you could use a ride.”
Brother Malachi smiled. “The journey north has been a long one, but I will survive. The vehicles cannot maneuver through the forest. Cover them if you wish to protect them from the snow, but leave them behind. I must insist.”
They secured tarps over the ATVs to protect them against the snow that Brother Malachi had predicted. By the time they had finished, Jeb noticed the temperature had dropped several degrees, and the wind had picked up. Bands of gray clouds scuttled across the sky from the northwest. Maybe the old man isn’t so crazy, he thought.
They followed their silent Indian guide along a game trail in the woods. The zombies had gone on ahead, but Jeb suspected a few followed discretely behind them from a distance. His people were nervous. Even Karen stayed close to him, pressing her hand against his back for reassurance. At one time, he would have considered that a good sign that she was beginning to accept him again, but after so many false hopes, so many setbacks, he paid scant attention to it. She, like the others, was frightened. He hoped no one got too nervous and took a wild shot at a zombie. He quickened his pace and caught up with Brother Malachi.
“Does the Indian speak?” he asked.
Brother Malachi chuckled. “His name is Ahiga. Yes, he speaks, but very seldom.”
“What’s his story?”
“In the fight at our sanctuary at Twin Buttes Resort, he was severely wounded. He wandered the desert awaiting death, but death did not come. The Children found him and accepted him. He now believes that the Great Spirit saved him for a purpose. He is devoted to my people and to the Children.” He glanced at Jeb. “Your friend at the Sanctuary? He is alive?”
“I wish I knew,” he sighed. “He saved our asses at Biosphere2. He’s the one who killed the Major. He went with the others when we split up. I haven’t heard from them in months.”
“It is a harsh and unforgiving land. We lost five on our journey here, two from accident and two from disease. One became one of the Children, a New Angel, but became so wild and dangerous that the Alpha male killed her. They are beginning to use tools, you know.”
The offhand remark stunned Jeb. “Tools? What kind of tools?”
“Oh, just simple tools – stones for crushing bones for marrow, sticks for knocking fruit from trees, sharpened stones for cutting meat, but they are learning.”
“Fruit? I thought they just ate meat.”
“No, these Children are hunter gatherers. We grow vegetables, which we trade for meat. They might even have a rudimentary language. Not much, just a few simple grunts and calls, but they all understand them. I am no expert, but I am convinced that they are evolving. There are thousands of them in southern Utah and the mountains of Colorado. Most live in caves.”
“If what you say is true, then mankind is doomed.”
“Or being given a second opportunity. What we have considered as man’s folly might have been God’s plan. If the Children evolve, why can we not evolve with them, like Cro Magnon and Neanderthal?”
“Neanderthal died out,” Jeb reminded him, “Cro Magnon probably killed him.”
Brother Malachi shrugged. “We will have to do better.”
3
Agua Caliente, Arizona
Elliot Samuels stood on the crest of a low, sandy ridge, looking back down at the Agua Caliente solar farm with its neat rows of solar panels spread out before him like a hall of glistening mirrors, or rather they would have been glistening if the day weren’t cloudy and dreary. A northern cold front was moving through. Even for Arizona, the fifty-degree temperatures were chilly for late November. The cold weather exacerbated the dull ache in his right shoulder, caused by a poorly mended broken collarbone, a bullet-scar memento of the battle at Biosphere2 three months earlier. There had been no clear winner of the fight. They had killed the ruthless Major Corzine and eliminated his attack force, but only at a horrific cost. Over half of the defenders were lost and the integrity of the glass domes of Biosphere2 were compromised. The survivors had split up – the munies followed Jeb Stone. Elliot and those needing the Blue Juice vaccine were accompanying Mace Ridell and Erin Kostner’s former CDC group that produced the temporary vaccine. Elliot rubbed the dull throb of the bullet wound in his shoulder, wondering how Jeb was faring. They had not heard from him since their parting.
Movement in the distance caught his attention, an ATV coming from the direction of the interstate. His body stiffened. Was this the moment they had all been dreading, when they would need to pack up and slink away or stand and fight? He relaxed when he saw that it was Vince Holcomb and Amanda returning from a run into the outskirts of Yuma for supplies. So far, their little group had managed to remain hidden in their new quarters, but discovery loomed over them like Gideon’s sword. They had all the power they needed for the labs from the solar farm, 240 megawatts worth – power enough for the lab equipment, electric ovens and microwaves for cooking, hot water for showers, and electric heaters – but they still had to salvage supplies from intact stores or homes. Each trip exposed them to marauding zombies, frightened survivors who often shot first, or bands of mercenary Hunters seeking munies. He glanced up at the sky. Somewhere up there, spy satellites still circled the Earth. No doubt, the military had managed to add them to their arsenal of weaponry to locate survivors. The cloud cover would help, but every trip entailed risks. Eventually, their luck would run out.
Vince spotted Elliot and waved. Elliot returned his greeting. He genuinely liked the former Air Force technical sergeant. Though somewhat taciturn, a term often used by Erin about him, Vince was friendly, honest to the point of rudeness, and a deadly killer when necessary. His relationship with Amanda, whom he had rescued during his escape from the Gray Man and his Hunters, had soothed his bluntness somewhat, but he still spoke his mind, often to the ire of others. Elliot found it refreshing. As a former FEMA director and liaison with the CDC, being political had been his stock-in-trade, a useful tool to soothe frayed relations, but the time for politics was over, dead with the rest of civilization. Truth and honesty were needed now.
Vince roa
red up the slope, rolled the ATV to a stop beside Elliot, and removed his helmet. “Keeping watch?” he asked.
“Keeping out of Erin’s hair,” Elliot replied. “There’s a bit of tension in the lab, and as the only non-scientist there, I felt out of place.”
Vince jerked his thumb toward the back of the ATV piled high with boxes. “Maybe this will help.”
Elliot strolled to the ATV and looked at Vince’s haul. Among the cases of goods, bottled water, and a pile of extra blankets, he spotted a box of chocolates, several cases of beer, and much to Elliot’s delight, a case of canned cranberries.
“Good job,” he said, “maybe this will liven up the crowd.”
Vince climbed out of the ATV and stretched by reaching his arms behind his back and clasping them. A sharp snap followed as bones realigned. Amanda remained seated. “I hope the hell it does. It’s like a damn morgue around here. Mace sits beside that damned Ham radio like he’s expecting a word from God.”
“Word from Jeb, more likely. It’s been three months.”
“Jeb can take care of himself,” Vince said, and then shook his arms to loosen his muscles.
“That’s true,” Elliot agreed, “but he insists on taking on everyone else’s problems as well.”
Vince shook his head and grinned. “Reminds me of someone else.” He glanced at the sun low in the western sky. It blazed brighter as it broke free of the cloud cover but was already caressing the horizon. “Hop in and we’ll give you a lift back down before dark.”
“No. I’ll stay here for a while and enjoy the fresh air.”
“And the quiet,” Vince added. He glanced down at Elliot’s holster with his 9 mm automatic and nodded. “Good, you’re armed.” He reached into the back of the ATV and pulled out a blanket. “Here. You look cold.”
Elliot accepted the blanket, a cheap, colorful Mexican blanket found at most truck stops or roadside souvenir stands for five dollars, and wrapped it around his shoulders. “See you later.”
He watched the ATV head back down the ridge toward the concrete block building, the sheds, and the four salvaged FEMA trailers that comprised Agua Caliente. A light shone briefly as several people exited one of the trailers to help unload the supplies. Someone inside quickly closed the door to hide the light. Voices rose in greeting. A high-pitched laugh that could only have come from Dana Welch, a former Tucson morning show radio host, erupted from the crowd. Even in the relative safety of the trailers, Elliot noticed Amanda stood off to the side with her rifle on guard while the others unloaded the ATV. The supplies unloaded, Vince drove the ATV to the shed where they parked their vehicles out of the sight of prying eyes. Amanda stopped and looked back up the ridge at him before going inside.
The slim Afro-American woman was still a mystery to him. She was quietly observant and seldom ventured an opinion, except through Vince, but he felt that beneath her reserved façade, she was a woman of great emotional strength and stability. She never spoke of her captivity at the hands of the Gray Man, and no one dared ask about it. By mutual agreement, the past was as gone as the world they had lived in. Only the present and the future mattered. Vince had confided that she had killed the Gray Man during their escape in a manner best left unspoken. She was a good match for Vince and that was all that mattered.
A sudden gust of wind sent a small dust devil spinning at Elliot’s feet, then racing down the slope toward the solar array. Dust was a prevalent problem with the solar panels, reducing their efficiency and scratching the glass. Its accumulation had to be kept to a minimum, but sparkling clean solar panels would be a dead giveaway that someone was maintaining them. The entire camp walked the fine line of maintaining a façade of desertion and accommodating fifteen people. Black drapes covered windows and doors to prevent light from leaking out. Large outside gatherings were strictly forbidden. Cold weather was the worst, forcing everyone inside for warmth, but southern Arizona was blessed with mild winters interspersed with many days of warm weather. The heart of the winter was still months away. Things would become more difficult then.
He clasped the blanket tighter and stared north until he saw it, a brief flash of light on the horizon. It lasted only a few seconds, but this was the third time he had seen it in as many days. It was why he had come to the ridge, just to be certain. It could be something innocuous like the setting sun flashing on some metal object or glass, but there were no houses in that direction, only the Agua Caliente Mountains. Strangers presented a problem. It had been someone passing through Biosphere2 that had revealed its location to Hunter spies, leading to many deaths and their eventual expulsion from their glass-enclosed Eden. The flash warranted investigation, but not tonight.
He trudged down the steep slope in the dark, mindful of his footing. He had already suffered one broken bone. He didn’t need a broken leg to add to his list of scars. The cinderblock building serving as the laboratory, stood apart from the other trailers for safety reasons. When dealing with a potentially lethal virus like the mutated Avian flu zombie virus, certain precautions were not only warranted, but also expected. He knocked first to allow the people inside to slide the dark drape over the door opening. When it opened, he stepped inside quickly and closed the door behind him. Erin Kostner and Ang Lee were arguing in the far corner.
“It has been three months and we’re no closer to a solution,” he complained. “The direction of our research is fundamentally flawed. The degradation is not a genetic problem, but a chemical one.”
Erin did not back down from Lee’s accusations. “We’ve replaced all of our reagents and sterilized all of our equipment, all with the same results. Our original blood supply was contaminated in some manner that our limited equipment can’t detect. We have all received treatments from the resulting batch of Blue Juice, further contaminating our blood supply.” She glanced across the room at Elliot. “We can’t drain our immune donors. It’s a slow process.”
He rubbed his arm where he had donated blood twice in the last two weeks. He was glad she had reminded everyone that those needing Blue Juice greatly surpassed the number of munies. He couldn’t give blood every day.
Lee was adamant. “It’s too slow. We need more blood.”
Erin scowled at Lee and placed her hands on her hips. From personal experience, he knew Lee had gone too far. She was not quick tempered, but lately, she had become prone to explosive bouts of anger. He waited for the fireworks. Instead, she spoke quietly.
“I suppose you would like to return to the military base at San Diego and join them in killing hundreds for their blood, or maybe they’ve established one in Phoenix by now.”
Lee’s face reddened. “No, I, er, I …,” he spluttered.
“I didn’t think so. Nor would I. We work with what we have and pray for some good luck to come our way.” She turned and smiled at Elliot, catching him off guard. “We’re due for some.”
Without waiting for Lee’s response, she turned on her heel, strode back to her desk, and resumed entering notes on her laptop, one of the few items they had been able to save when they had fled Biosphere2. The rapid-fire peck-peck-peck as her nimble fingers struck the keys with more force than necessary, filled the suddenly quiet room. Elliot walked over to her, bending down so that his striking six-foot-two-inch-frame wouldn’t seem so intimidating. When he rested his hands on the desk, she stopped typing long enough to reach out and clasp one of them for a few seconds, and then resumed typing.
“Vince is back with some more items for our Thanksgiving meal,” he said.
“Thanksgiving. I’m not so sure that’s a holiday we should revive, that and Christmas, not when we have three-hundred-sixty-five-days of Halloween.”
He understood her reluctance to note the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the zombie plague. “We aren’t celebrating the plague, but a year of survival. We all need something to break the monotony. It won’t hurt to shut down the lab for one day and just relax.”
She looked up at him over the rims of her gl
asses. “Won’t it?” She waved her hand around the room. “Not you, maybe, but any one of them could die tomorrow, and they know it.”
He stood straight. “We all know it, Erin. Maybe Ang has a point. It’s been three long months. Take a day off and be human again.” He smiled. “Vince brought cranberries.” They had managed to shoot a few wild chickens and even bake bread for stuffing, but without cranberry sauce, Thanksgiving wouldn’t be complete.
Erin removed her glasses and laid them on her desk. After rubbing the bridge of her nose, she looked up at him and smiled. It was a quick smile, barely creasing the corners of her mouth, but he accepted it as a sign he had gotten through to her.
“Maybe you’re right. We’re getting on one another’s nerves.”
“Some roasted chicken with stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and a cold beer, ought to make a new woman out of you.”
She frowned. “Why? Is something wrong with the old me?”
“Not at all,” he replied quickly, “but I don’t see the old Erin much anymore except at meals and in the lab.”
She winced at his implication. “I know I’ve been rather remote lately, but it has nothing to do with you, or with us,” she added after a short hesitation.
He twirled the ends of his moustache with his fingers. “I hope not. I trimmed my moustache just for you. You complained it irritated you.”
“I didn’t complain, I …” she began; then stopped and chuckled, “okay, I guess I did complain. It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“It’s good to remember that I still can.” She sighed. “Oh, Elliot! Ang’s right. We’re just going through the motions. I don’t know what to do.”
He walked around behind her chair and began to massage her shoulders. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing some of the tension to drain from her body. Everyone else in the lab pretended sudden interest in something else, to allow the couple a moment of solitude. After a few minutes, he felt her body relax beneath his hands. Suddenly, she pushed away from her desk and stood. Elliot scrambled backwards out of her way.
