“I need a four-ten shotgun,” Earl said. “Youth-sized. For my daughter.”
The older man scowled down at Zoe. “You’re lucky. No one’s interested in the smaller gauges right now, but all the other stores are cleaned out. Even the Walmart up on Williamson—no guns, no ammunition, no food, no campin’ supplies, no nothin’.”
“We don’t have much o’ nothin’ either,” one of the younger men offered.
“Hey, shut the hell up, Denny,” the older man snapped. Denny sniffed and turned to look out the barred window at the front of the shop.
“Would you also have any ammunition?” Earl asked.
“Would you happen to have five thousand dollars?” the older man asked.
Earl blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I have the gun you’re looking for—a Mossberg 510, youth-size. I have twelve boxes of Fiocchi high-velocity ammunition. It’s all yours, including a cleaning kit, for five thousand dollars or equivalent barter or trade.”
Earl had to fight to control his outrage. “Five thousand bucks? Don’t you think dat’s a bit high, man?”
“It is what it is. If you can’t afford it, get the fuck out.”
“Daddy…” Zoe tugged at his hand.
Earl sighed. He’d been overcharged almost every step of the way, and of the two thousand dollars Regina had given him, he had only eight hundred left. The shotgun would normally have retailed for just over two hundred dollars. “I don’t have five grand.”
“Then get the fuck out. Denny, you and Larry see this man to the door.”
“What would you take in trade?” Earl asked quickly.
“You tell me. And make it quick.”
Early slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the Cartier watch Regina had given him. He knew it was worth much more than five thousand dollars, probably ten times that much, but it was all he had. He held the diamond-studded watch out where the older man could see it, but not touch it. “Cartier, bought in New York City. Very high end.”
“I can see that. That’s a Captive model. Eighteen-karat gold band, diamonds, the whole nine yards. Where the hell did you get that?”
“That matter? I didn’t steal it.”
The older man held out his hand. When Earl hesitated, he said, “I’m not going to take it from you, boy, I just need to appraise it.”
Boy? Earl gritted his teeth and handed over the watch.
The fat white man took it and laid it on the glass-topped counter, then pulled a jeweler’s loupe from one pocket. He examined the watch closely, paying most attention to the diamonds set in the bezel. He turned it over. If he read the inscription on the back, he didn’t mention it. He made a sound in his throat and put the loupe back in his pocket. He pushed the watch toward Earl.
“That’s a true high-ticket item,” he said as he crossed his arms. “I’d say that’s a thirty thousand dollar item—on sale. Deep discount, fifteen thousand. That’s worth a lot more than the goods you’re asking about.”
Earl blinked. “Not sure I unnerstand.”
“I’m not a thief, damn it. If that’s what you have for trade, I’ll accept it at a face value of fifteen thousand dollars. And you’re free to look around and see if there are any other items you might need that we have in stock.”
“Really?” Earl asked, disbelievingly.
The old man scowled again. “The world ain’t ended just yet.”
***
With the vehicle loaded with more supplies, Earl and Zoe continued down the road until he found a small turn-off. The day was cool, but Earl still pulled the Pathfinder behind a thick copse of shade trees where he felt sure the silver SUV wouldn’t be seen from the road.
Zoe sat up straight in the front passenger seat and looked around with wide eyes. “Why here?”
“I already told you; I need some sleep.” Earl reclined the driver’s seat, made the sure the doors were locked, the pistol he’d bought for six thousand dollars was close at hand in the center console, and that the shotguns were lying on the back seat next to the cheap tent that had cost entirely too much.
“I’m scared.”
“And I’m tired. Just for a few hours, Zoe, then we’re back on the road again.”
She looked at him with eyes that had seen far too much horror. “You promise?”
Earl reached out and touched his daughter’s cheek. “Promise.”
***
The roads into Ohio were closed.
The traffic had backed up on every road Earl could find, not that there were that many in their slice of western Pennsylvania. The radio had finally come alive with news reports from the emergency broadcasting system, something that had only broadcast tests during all the years Earl had lived. There was a zombie force of some sort to the south, in Kentucky, and it had defeated the Army at Fort Campbell—Earl didn’t know much about Army posts and whatnot, but he was certain that if an entire fort was overrun, then that meant the dead weren’t just everywhere, but they were in great numbers. Worse, the dead were making their way north, while a smaller force of zombies was causing all sorts of hell in Cleveland.
Guess Ohio’s off the list.
The radio announcement instructed all civilians to move to an emergency protection center outside of Pittsburgh, still over a hundred miles south. Earl didn’t know what to think about that; if a bunch of zombies were coming up from the south, then he wondered how safe he and Zoe would be in an “emergency protection center,” whatever that was.
But what choice did he have? The traffic pointed toward Ohio wasn’t moving at all, and in the distance, he saw men in uniform on an armored vehicle of some sort forcing the traffic ahead to turn around and take a south-bound road. He ran a hand over his stubbled chin and watched the traffic slowly unwind. In the distance, somewhere in the woods to their right, he heard guns firing bursts on full automatic. That bothered Earl as well, since it meant there were probably zombies in the woods, zombies that could step out of the tree line at any moment.
“Well, looks like we’re going to head south for a bit, baby girl,” Earl said.
“Okay,” was all Zoe said.
Earl patted her skinny leg and waited for his turn to pull out of traffic. He kept one eye on the trees to the right of the Pathfinder.
17
“Colonel McDaniels? We’ve got something going down at Gate One, sir.”
McDaniels looked up at the young Army lieutenant standing next to his workstation. “What’s happening, Lieutenant? A stench show up?”
“Nothing that critical, sir. If you’ll open up cam two on your computer? It might be easier to show you than tell you.”
McDaniels did as instructed, and a black-and-white window opened up on his screen. It was a direct feed from the camera unit at the gate. Every gate had four surveillance cameras, and camera two was a close-angle camera mounted right at the gate itself. Framed inside the window was the real-time imagery, which included armed sentries interrogating the driver of a white 2010 Mustang GT. The driver was a young black man in his early twenties.
“The man behind the wheel says he’s your son,” the lieutenant said. “Is that true, sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. That is in fact my son.”
“We’ll allow him through, Colonel. He’ll have to go through decon just like everyone else, but they should be ready for pick up in about an hour.” The lieutenant turned to go.
“They, Lieutenant? Who are the rest of them?” McDaniels asked.
The lieutenant turned back with a puzzled expression. “Well, your daughter-in-law and her parents, sir.”
Daughter-in-law?
“Great. Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, sir.”
McDaniels turned back to his workstation and looked at the surveillance camera footage. He could certainly make out Lenny—calm, cool, and collected, even though his vehicle was surrounded by men with guns. Next to him was a blond-haired woman—girl?—who was less composed. The Mustang’s re
ar windows weren’t very large, so he couldn’t tell who was in the back seat, but he was confident that some tortured souls were indeed trapped back there.
Oh, Lenny. What have you done now?
***
“Hey, Dad!” Leonard McDaniels almost shouted after he finally cleared the decontamination area. With him came a tall, slender girl with straw-blond hair. Like Lenny, she wore jeans and a T-shirt, but she carried a leather jacket under one arm. Behind her came what McDaniels could only presume were her parents. The father was rather squat and square-shouldered, an almost picture-perfect image of a redneck Texan. In his younger years, the man might have been a star of the gridiron. The mother was an older version of the daughter, only more faded, less vibrant, still attractive enough, but no longer a beacon of beauty.
“Leonard,” McDaniels said. “Had I known you were bringing guests, I would have arranged for the good silverware to be brought out.”
Lenny’s expression became sheepish. That pleased McDaniels a bit. After all, Lenny was at the age when young men viewed their fathers more like pals than authority figures, so it was still a bit of a kick to see that Lenny hadn’t made it to that point. Yet.
“Uh well, I did tell you about Belinda. Right, Dad?” Lenny asked as he approached. The others held back a bit, probably sensing the building disagreement.
“You did,” McDaniels agreed.
“And these are her parents. She wouldn’t leave without—”
“Lenny, forget about it. They’re here.” McDaniels grabbed his son and held him tight. He realized he’d missed Lenny terribly, and even in the middle of the dark night in New York City when he’d been fighting for his life, a part of him had still worried about Lenny. Seeing with his own eyes that his son was safe, he felt a sizeable chunk of stress dissolve.
Apparently, Lenny didn’t feel the same way. He squirmed in McDaniels’s embrace, and when he spoke, the embarrassment was clear in his voice. “Hey, Dad, I’m glad to see you too but all the soldiers are looking at us, man!”
McDaniels laughed and released his son, albeit slowly. “Well, let ’em look.” But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenny was right. Several soldiers were looking at them, and most of them didn’t seem very happy. It took McDaniels a moment to figure out what the issue was, but then understanding dawned. The soldiers didn’t have their families anywhere nearby, but McDaniels had managed to get his own son to SPARTA.
Not too cool, Cord.
“Come on. Let’s find a tent for you guys and get you squared away,” he said, slapping Lenny on the shoulder. He looked past his son at the tall girl and extended his hand. “Hi, you must be Belinda? I’m Cord McDaniels, Lenny’s father.”
“Yes, sir.” Belinda shook his hand, her grip firm and strong. “I’m very happy to meet you. And thank you for giving us permission to come here with Lenny.”
“Of course.” McDaniels turned to the couple. “And these would be your parents?”
“Jim Howie,” the man said. His Texan accent was strong, and his handshake wasn’t just firm, but almost bone-crushing. “Good to meet you, sir. Lieutenant colonel, am I right?”
McDaniels found he actually had to work to keep from wincing. “You are. Just recently promoted, actually. And it’s good to meet you, too, Mister Howie.”
“Please, it’s Jim.”
“Okay, Jim. I’m Cord.” McDaniels turned to Belinda’s mother, who extended her hand slowly, almost daintily.
“Colonel, I’m Jeanette Howie.”
“Good to meet you too, ma’am. Can I call you Jeanette?” McDaniels shook her hand gently.
“I go by Jeanie, actually.”
“Jeanie it is, then.” He looked back at Jim Howie. “Did you folks have any possessions with you?”
“They’re still in the car,” Lenny said. “The guards wouldn’t let us take anything out, and they took the shotguns.”
“Procedure. Unauthorized weapons are confiscated, but we can get those back without much of a problem. And the rest of the gear, too. But Lenny, you might have to ditch the car for a while. Space is going to be at a premium soon.”
“I understand,” Lenny said, and he didn’t seem to be all that broken up about it. “I figured since it’s the zombie apocalypse, a Ford Mustang is probably going to rank pretty low on the vehicle survivability scale when things get rough.”
“You got that right,” McDaniels said with a grin. “Okay, we’ll come back to that shortly. But in the meantime, let’s get you quarters, and I’ll try and familiarize you with the camp and get your gear returned to you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I mean it. Thanks a lot.”
McDaniels clapped his son on the shoulder again and ignored the barely contained disdain he sensed emanating from the nearby sentries. “You got it, kid. You got it.”
***
Regina sat in the lab and added the precise amount of control agent to the samples of RMA 2 virus. All around her, a dozen research scientists did the same thing, using different combinations of the vaccine her father had invented. The goal was to narrow down which concentration would be the most effective across a mass spectrum. Whichever agent demonstrated the most efficiency in causing the virus to become incapable of binding to host cells would be the manufacturing candidate. Once the senior researchers had typified the agent and developed test batches for use on infected people, and if those results were positive, then the winning vaccine would go into immediate production. Already, the military had identified the aircraft that would fly the vaccine out to the west, where it would be replicated while the InTerGen plant continued manufacture in Texas. In fact, Colonel Jaworski had even requested another helicopter be brought to the facility for the express purpose of airlifting the vaccine out should the zombies surround the complex. No one was content to sit around and hope for the best while the world was going to hell. The zombies had already overrun San Antonio and were on the road to Austin. The news reports were full of coverage on all the flat-screen televisions in the conference rooms and breakrooms.
Not that she had a lot of time or inclination to watch them.
The test agent she worked with was one of the more successful ones. Almost immediately after exposing it to contaminated cells, the RMA 2 virus detached from the hosts. Free-floating in the plasma, the virus slowly undulated under the magnification of the electron microscope, seeking out new cells with which to bond. Regina watched as the virus particles came in contact with other cells in the batch and failed to establish a long-lasting bind. If the virus couldn’t anchor itself to human cells, then it couldn’t replicate. It needed the DNA in the cells to fuel its progression, and in order to harvest that, the virus had to be able to grab a cell and hold onto it.
It was a promising development.
***
When the sun started to slip past the western horizon, Regina took a break. After going through a bath of warm water and bleach, she removed her pressurized Racal suit and stepped through the two airlocks that finally deposited her in the ready room. Another batch of researchers was coming online for the day. Regina didn’t know them, but they all acknowledged her presence with a smile or a nod.
Of course, I’m the former boss’s daughter.
She left the research wing and headed for one of the breakrooms on the next floor, one she hoped be empty at that hour. It wouldn’t remain empty for long. The company was moving in all the dependents of the employees, giving them some measure of security as the zombies inexorably drew nearer. In a few days, every building in the complex would be full of people. Things were going to get quite cozy over the next few weeks.
The breakroom was indeed deserted. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a sandwich and salad she’d put there in labeled containers that bore her name and the date. She was happy to find that no lunch thieves had descended upon them while she had been working. She sat at one of the tables and looked out the third floor window.
The complex’s transformation was impressive. In only a few sh
ort days, the military had effectively converted the property into defensive revetments and helicopter landing zones. The work continued throughout the nights, as more trenches were dug and bulldozers pushed the excavated earth up into high berms. Guard towers were being built, tall structures made from welded metal that promised to rise high into the sky. Helicopters came and went, but not all of them carried people and cargo; several were unmanned aircraft used to survey the territory around the complex. McDaniels had explained that one of the only ways they might survive the coming weeks and months was to find the enemy before it found them.
Regina felt comfortable with McDaniels, after all they’d gone through trying to escape New York City. All of the troops protecting her and her father had died; only McDaniels and Gartrell had made it out alive. McDaniels had tried to see to Earl and his daughter, even though there was precious little he could do for them, and that meant a lot to Regina as well. McDaniels had a heart, even with everything that was going down. He and Gartrell were the kind of men she could trust, and of all the people in the InTerGen office park, she knew what kind of threat they were facing. It was good to have people you could trust to do the right thing when everything started to turn into shit.
And shit is what’s headed our way, she thought as she unwrapped her meal. Slowly but surely, the stenches are coming out to play.
On impulse, she reached into her lab coat pocket and pulled out her smartphone. To her surprise, she had a message. It must have come in while she had been in the research lab. Only approved electronic devices were allowed past the locker room, and smartphones were not on the official list. She dialed her voicemail and brought the phone to her ear.
“H’lo Miss Safire, this is Earl Brown. Ah … me ’n Zoe, we’re okay. I really appreciate everything you did for us. The Pathfinder’s great. I did have to trade in your watch for some things. I’m sorry ’bout that. Didn’t want to do it, but had to. Sorry. Anyway, me ’n’ Zoe, we have to go to some emergency center outside o’ Pittsburgh. We can’t get into Ohio; the military has it blocked off. So um, I just wanted to let you know. We’re fine. Hope you are, too. Thanks for everything. I’ll try and get in touch with you later.” There was a long pause, as if Earl had run out of things to say, then finally, “Bye now.”
The Rising Horde, Volume One (Sequel to The Gathering Dead ) Page 21
