"Nice science lesson," Butler said. "What does that mean to me?"
Morgan stepped past Butler and pulled back a drape at the end of the room. Behind a large window, three zombies were chained to the wall. They strained uselessly to attack Morgan, their yellow eyes gleaming.
"Another demonstration," Morgan said. "I trust you recognize the zombie in the middle."
The zombie he pointed to wore military BDUs with several bullet holes in the chest. Jen couldn't make out his name tape because of a bloodstain.
Butler sauntered over to the window. "Captain Beal. You're looking a little worn." He chuckled at his own joke.
"Observe." Morgan pointed at Beal's head, where a bulky plastic helmet was strapped.
Morgan picked up a microphone and turned it on. "Captain Beal."
Beal went apeshit, flinging himself against his chains.
"Captain Beal," Morgan repeated. "Sit on the floor."
The zombie captain continued to flail against his restraints.
Morgan took a small device from his pocket. Black, with a red button, it fit snugly in his hand. He pressed the button.
Captain Beal's back arched and his arms flung out, fingers splayed. A mournful moan came from deep in his chest.
Morgan released the button, and Beal came out of his convulsions. Morgan spoke into the mic. "Captain Beal. Sit on the floor."
Chains rattling, the zombie captain lowered himself to the floor.
No freaking way.
The other two zombies, both with various chunks of flesh missing from their bodies, continued to lunge at the windows.
Butler clapped Morgan on the shoulder. "Now you're talking. Screw the fancy wires and shit. Discipline has always worked for me." He frowned. "How many of those helmets do you have and how do we control them from a distance? We'd need a couple million of them."
Morgan's face broke into a Cheshire grin. "We only have the one helmet at this time, but more can be manufactured within the week."
"One?" Butler yelled. "How many can we have within a week?"
"Thirty to fifty."
"What the fuck, Morgan? How the hell does that help me now?"
Morgan pushed his glasses up. "These helmets are fairly complex. It has a speaker, GPS tracker, and the circuitry to send a powerful localized EMP pulse into the zombie's brain."
Butler stepped nose-to-nose with Morgan. "I don't want a fucking science lesson. I want results, and I want them now."
Morgan calmly stared back at Butler. "If you'll step aside, I'll demonstrate."
Butler backed away, his face a bright crimson.
I've got a feeling I'm not going to like this.
"As I reported," Morgan said, "the EMP signal is what causes the zombie to feel pain. In fact, it's the only thing I've found that will do so. And the beauty of it is that it has to be powerful and concentrated, so the Pentagon can't just set up a huge EMP pulse to stop your army."
"Results, Doctor. Now."
Morgan sighed. "Observe. Remember, Captain Beal is a leader." He spoke into the microphone. "Captain Beal, tell your two zombie friends to sit."
Beal sat still, his yellow eyes searching the floor in front of him.
Morgan held up the torture device. "Captain Beal, do as I ask or I'll use this again."
Beal's gaze rose and focused on Morgan. Jen swallowed. That wasn't just a look of hunger. Beal's eyes held raw, pure hate.
As if on cue, the zombies on either side of Beal sat and became still.
"Holy shit," Butler yelled. "Just like that. Morgan, you're a genius."
Morgan beamed. "Control the leaders and you control them all."
"When can we get the other leaders fitted for their helmets?" Butler asked.
"My recommendation is to have as few leaders as possible." Morgan pulled the drapes back over the windows. "By reviewing drone footage, my preliminary analysis is that the average leader can control up to ten thousand drones. I recommend two hundred leaders. As I said earlier, we have the one helmet now and could have thirty to fifty more by next week."
Butler closed his eyes for a minute. "That's a half million loyal troops by next week." He slapped the doctor on the shoulder. "Now that's results." He frowned. "But I have to find forty-nine more leaders. And I want them with military experience."
"Why's that a problem?" Morgan asked.
Butler scowled. "Those are good men out there, some with families." Closing his eyes, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maybe the cost of saving this country is too high."
Morgan removed his glasses. "Aren't you the one who will lead us to take back this country from the politicians? To weed out and destroy the un-American influences in the halls of power?"
"Yes," Butler said. "I take no joy in the bloodshed that's to come. But once Washington falls, I believe we can get this great nation back to its roots. Back to its destiny." He straightened. "Then we'll move on to destroy our foreign enemies. Our undead army will be unstoppable."
This fucking guy is nuts. Enough observation bullshit. We've got to take him out.
Jen slid backward, past the office and the darkened room. Where they probably have more poor saps chained up. Are they murdered soldiers, too?
She shifted to her side and shined the flashlight behind her to the vertical shaft. Another ten feet.
Her axe slid on her back and she reached around to grab it, but missed. It hit the metal vent with a clatter, and Jen's heart stopped.
"What the hell was that?" Butler's voice came from ahead of her.
She stuck the axe in her belt and scurried backward, the damn thing banging with every move.
"Who's there?" Butler's head appeared through the vent opening. "Whoever you are, stop or you'll be shot."
Jen pressed on.
Butler's head disappeared, then reappeared with his arm. "I said stop." A muzzle flash illuminated him as an earsplitting bang rolled down the shaft. A bullet hit the side of the vent a foot in front of Jen.
Shit!
Doubling her efforts, Jen scrambled backward and her breath came in shallow pants. Seconds later, her feet dangled into the vertical shaft. Butler fired again and the round hit above Jen.
She lowered her feet until they hit an outcropping. She slid her upper body out of the vent just as Butler fired a third time. The bullet ricocheted off the vent an inch from her hand. She almost lost her grip on the vent, then disappeared down the shaft.
Not too fast. Don't slip.
She made it to the fourth-floor vent, crawled to the janitor's closet, and dropped to the floor.
A klaxon sounded, its blaring deafening. Shouting and footsteps came from the hallway.
Trapped.
20
The damn alarm gave her a freaking headache. How to get out? Being aggressive had always worked for her before. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
She found a blue ball cap and placed it on her head, pulled the brim down, and secured her axe to her back. Pulling down the overalls on the hook, she shook them out then threw them on.
Someone banged into the door, startling her. When the door remained closed, she picked up a broom with a wide brush and put her other hand on the doorknob. With a deep breath, she pulled the door open.
The alarm sounded ten times louder in the hall. Armed soldiers ran by shouting. She couldn't hear a damn thing they said. Backing into the room, she hesitated. It'd look more suspicious if anyone saw her trying to hide, so she stepped out into the hallway and ran to the stairway door. Look like you belong here.
A soldier had pushed the stairway door open and looked back at her. He held it and waved her through.
She ran down the steps to the next floor. When no one stopped her, she kept going. Maybe she could get to the dock undetected and hide in the back of an empty truck. Get out the same way I got in.
She hit the first floor in a dead run and went to push the hallway door, when it opened and she stood face-to-face with Sergeant Howell.
They stared at eac
h other for a moment, then he grabbed her arm. "Come with me."
Jen pulled her arm back and scrambled to pull her pistol, but the damn thing was under the overalls.
Howell let go and glanced over his shoulder. "We don't have time. If the wrong person sees you, you're screwed."
Jen flexed her arm. "And you're the right person?"
"I'm one that's not trying to kill you at the moment."
What the hell was she going to do? If he was telling the truth, he was her way out. If not, there wasn't much she could do to stop him.
What the hell. "I'll follow."
Howell strode down the hall. Jen kept pace.
Other soldiers, their rifles at the ready, ran by them and toward the stairs. Jen kept her head down and stayed behind Howell.
He took the door that led to the front of the building.
Passing empty offices on each side, they walked into the front lobby. Still dark out. Howell pulled back from the glass doors and stopped.
"Butler's standing out front," he said. "He's got two armed guards with him and he's watching everyone come out."
He peeked out and turned back to her. "Stay right behind me. I'll distract him and you keep on going."
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"
He smiled. "We'll talk later. Get your friends and go to the conference room. Don't call Dr. Cartwright. Wait for me."
Jen licked her lips. "OK."
"When I stop to talk to him, you keep going."
"Got it."
Howell followed several soldiers out the door, and Jen stayed in his shadow. Butler couldn't see her, but she couldn't see how close they were to him either.
Howell raised a hand. "Colonel, they think they have someone cornered on the fourth floor."
He stopped, and Jen walked around him and through the gate.
"Is there just the one?" Butler asked. "Do we know who it is?"
"No, sir."
"I'll bet it's those assholes working for Cartwright."
Jen wanted to run. Wanted to find Mark and Zeke. But she couldn't afford to bring any attention to herself.
She made a beeline toward the rec center. It stood dark and still. Slipping into the shadows, she put down the broom, leaned against the wall, placed her a hand on her knee, and barfed.
"Jen." A soft voice in her ear. She spun.
"Jen," Zeke repeated.
Jen reached out and pulled the skinny ninja into a hug. "I'm so glad to see you."
"You OK?" Mark's voice came from behind Zeke.
Jen chuckled. "I am now."
"What did you find out?" Zeke asked.
Butler. Howell had lured him off the scent, but it wouldn't be long before that shit head was looking for her.
"We're in deep shit. I need to talk to Cartwright. Now." She peeled off the overalls and hurried across the road.
Mark jogged to her side. "Did Butler see you? Is that why we have to hurry?"
Jen shook her head. "I'll tell you everything when we get to the conference room." She broke into a run.
They arrived at the conference room and entered. Zeke closed the door and Jen flipped the light switch.
Howell stood by the monitor, a pistol pointed at them. "Glad you could make it."
21
Jen stepped toward Howell. He aimed the gun at her chest. "Not a good idea."
"Why the hell did you help me get out of Area 51 if you're doing this?" Jen asked.
"He helped you get out of there?" Mark leaned forward on the balls of his feet, his hands clenched into fists.
Howell swung the barrel towards him. "Why don't you all have a seat on that side of the table while I explain?"
Jen hesitated. If the three of them attacked at once, they might get him. But someone was sure to get hurt, or worse.
As if reading her thoughts, Howell said, "Please. Just hear me out. No need for anyone to get hurt."
Zeke took a seat and laid his scabbard on the table in front of him. He's not fooling me. He could have that katana out and swinging in half a second.
Jen pulled a chair out next to him and sat. Mark didn't move.
"I'll explain everything," Howell said. "We're on the same side."
Mark's jaw muscles clenched, but he sat next to Jen.
"As long as your hands stay on the table and you keep your seats, there's no need for this." Howell holstered his pistol. "My name is Lance Howell; however, I'm not who you think I am."
Jen smirked. "I'll bet you're really one of the Lost Boys. Or is it Tinkerbell?"
Howell grinned. "It'd take a lot more than that to get a rise out of me." He leaned over and set his hands on the tabletop. "I'm a CID Special Agent."
"CID?" Zeke said. "Are you a spy?"
"No." Howell straightened. "Army Criminal Investigation Division. More like an FBI Agent."
"So, Mr. Super Secret Agent," Jen said, "are you here because of us? Or because of Butler?"
Howell nodded. "I was told you're sharp as a tack, but with a bit of a mouth."
Jen frowned.
Howell held a hand up. "Let's not get off track. I'm here to investigate Colonel Butler and what's going on in Area 51."
"Cartwright said she had an asset here," Mark said. "How do we know it's you?"
Howell looked into Jen's eyes. "I'll eat a bug if I'm lying."
Jen glanced at Mark and Zeke. They looked back at her with raised eyebrows.
"Dr. Cartwright told me to tell you that," Howell said.
Jen leaned back in her seat and let out a loud breath. "I believe you."
Mark visibly relaxed. "I agree."
"And you?" Howell looked at Zeke.
"I'm cool if they are," Zeke said.
Howell nodded. "Let's call Dr. Cartwright and brief her. Then we need to get you to your plane."
Zeke pressed the console button on the conference table. The monitor screen remained dark. "What's up with this?" Zeke pressed it again.
"Let me," Howell said. He pressed it. Nothing.
Zeke turned the controller over and checked the wiring. "Looks good here. Is the monitor plugged in?"
Howell looked behind the monitor. "Shit." He turned it around. All the wires had been yanked from the back. He picked up a phone on the table and put it to his ear. "Dead. Someone didn't want us using this again."
"Doesn't matter," Jen said. "Butler's got the thing bugged. He said they started listening in on our last call with Dr. Cartwright."
"What?" Mark said.
Something bumped into the wall by the door. Zeke jumped up and positioned himself beside the door, drawing his katana. Mark put a finger to his lips and pulled his pistol.
No more bumps on the wall, but stealthy footsteps instead.
Jen moved to the window and peeked through the blinds. Trucks with flashing red and blue lights were parked at the curb. Several shadowy figures ran toward the window. "Cops out here."
Howell reached under the conference table and stood up with a shotgun. He holstered his pistol and jacked a shell into the shotgun's chamber. "We're going to have to fight our way out of here."
"Damn," Jen said. "Got any more shit stashed around here?"
Howell shrugged. "Planted it there before you came in. Just in case."
Zeke looked back at Mark and whispered, "I don't want to kill humans, especially soldiers."
A lump settled in Jen's gut. "I'm with Zeke, but it's either we go all-out, or get captured and let Butler turn us into his undead shock troops. We'll kill a lot more people then."
"He's turning people into zombies?" Howell asked.
Jen nodded. "You know Captain Beal?"
"Beal went missing on patrol." Howell's face hardened. "We kill a few MPs or kill thousands or millions of civilians because we didn't get the information to Dr. Cartwright. It sucks, but I know what I'm going to do."
Mark chewed his lower lip. This is hitting him where he lives—killing innocents.
Mark nodded slowly. "So we escape from here.
Then what?"
"I've got a blue crew cab truck parked by the chow hall's outside exit. Keys are in it and the tank's full. When we get out of this room, go right and get your asses to the chow hall."
"You leave your keys in your truck?" Zeke asked.
Howell nodded. "By Colonel Butler's order, keys are left in all vehicles on base in case there's an attack and the vehicle is needed."
"Are you coming with us?" Jen asked.
"I've still got a job to do here," Howell said. "I need to relay your information to Dr. Cartwright and keep an eye on Morgan." He licked his lips. "As long as none of these MP's survive, my cover's intact."
"How can you watch Morgan when he's locked up on the fifth floor?" Zeke asked.
Howell shrugged. "He's either there or at his residence across from the base chapel. I bugged it. He hasn't said shit yet, but he'll slip up. It's only a matter of time."
Jen drew her Beretta. "I think we're out of time." A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek. "How do we get this party going?"
Something banged against the door twice. "This is the military police. By order of Colonel Butler, base commander, all civilians are to surrender to us and be placed in protective custody."
Protective, my ass. Jen opened her mouth to tell them so, but Howell shoved his hand over her mouth. "Not the time for a smart-ass comment," he whispered.
Jen nodded and he removed his hand.
"This is Sergeant Howell, Colonel Butler's adjutant. I have the suspects in custody and could use your help in walking them out."
Howell nodded to Mark, who opened the dead bolt and stepped back.
"I've got their weapons secured," Howell said, raising the shotgun to his shoulder. "Request your assistance in moving the prisoners."
Jen knelt behind the conference table, propping her arms on it. She lined up the sights with the door, took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
The door burst open.
22
Jen fired at the MP in the doorway. He fell to the hallway floor, clamping his hands on his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. Two more MPs rushed through the doorway and Howell's shotgun went off. One of them staggered backward with a shredded chest. The other aimed her pistol at Jen.
Zombie Uprising Series (Book 3): The Citadel Page 10
