Washington Deceased

by Stephen Jones

  “Am I being arrested?”

  “Not yet. But I should warn you: proving uncooperative won’t look good if this goes to trial, Mr Jones.”

  Steele had bluffed. She and the President had cooked up this plan to embarrass Jones in front of his cronies and get him into an interrogation, but they hadn’t gone into an extensive Plan B, in case Jones refused to come. “Conspiracy and obstruction charges” had popped into Steele’s head out of nowhere, but they proved effective – Jones rose to his feet.

  “I really don’t have time for this, but if you insist—”

  “I’m sure it won’t take long.” She stepped aside and motioned towards the exit. Parker’s soldiers positioned themselves on either side of Jones and walked him out. As Steele followed, she was pleased by the absolute silence she left behind.

  They walked Jones to an office she and Ty Ward had set up just for today. They’d cleared all furniture but a simple, battered metal desk and two chairs; the room had been stripped bare of decoration and comfort. They wanted it to look as much like an interrogation room as possible.

  Ty was waiting as they entered. The two soldiers deposited Landen in the folding chair behind the desk, and then Steele nodded to them. “We’ll be just outside,” one of them said as they exited.

  The door closed behind them, and Steele leaned up against a wall facing Jones, her arms crossed.

  “Well, this is comfy,” he said, the way he shifted in the hard metal chair indicating that it clearly was not. “Now, can we finish up here quickly so I can get back to something that matters?”

  Steele shot a look at Ty, who smiled slightly. They’d discussed this in advance and Steele had opted for the role of tough interrogator, while Ty played silent partner. He sat in the other folding chair opposite Jones and pretended to take notes on his tablet.

  “Landen,” Steele said, “we think you know more about Thomas Moreby than what you’ve told us so far.”

  “Is that right? Well, I’m flattered that you find me so all-knowing.”

  Steele uncrossed her arms and walked up to lean on the desk. “Cut the shit, Landen. I don’t like you, and don’t care who knows it at this point. You can play best friend to all of those senators and representatives, and they might be dumb enough to fall for it, but I’m not. I know your bosses at New World had Moreby until something happened. I want to know exactly what they did with him, what they learned about him, and how they lost him. I’m not prone to hyperbole, so you better believe me when I tell you that any future the United States has might rest on your answers.”

  Jones at least dropped the near-perpetual smirk, but Steele didn’t like the look of hooded anger that replaced it. “So, what, Sandra, is this where you bring in the thugs from the hallway and torture me if you don’t like my answers? Maybe a little waterboarding for old times’ sake?”

  “I don’t believe in torture, Landen. Besides, I abide by the Geneva Convention.”

  “Great. How noble of you. Then my last question is – and forgive me if I’m not clear on the protocol in our current circumstances – do you have the power to arrest me?”

  “I do . . . but I’m not going to.”

  Jones started to rise. “Then we’re done here—”

  Steele blocked his movement with her own body as she called past him, “Ty, what was the number of that bill again?”

  Ty glanced at his tablet. “HR 203.”

  “Right.” She turned to Jones, who had stopped moving halfway out of his chair. “HR 203. Remind me again what that bill is, Landen.”

  Jones dropped into his chair, and Steele almost wanted to clap her hands in glee as an honest expression – of fear – finally crossed his features. “You know goddamn well what that bill is, Steele. And I shouldn’t have to tell you how important it is that it gets passed. New World’s close to developing a vaccine. They need all the resources they can get right now.”

  “They need more than our military forces? The people who are keeping us safe?”

  Jones fixed Steele with an intense glare. “You don’t want to fuck with this, Steele. I’m better at this than you are.”

  Lowering herself down until she was just inches from his face, Steele said, with soft power, “Do you really want to test that, Landen? Do you really want me to pull each of those reps aside in a hallway and have a little private chat just like this one with them? I can make them very afraid. Hell, I don’t even have to get to all of them to make sure that bill fails.”

  Steele heard breath huff from between Landen’s teeth, and she pressed her point. “Or you can do the right thing and tell me everything you know about Moreby right now.”

  Jones looked from Ty to Steele and then said, “I want your assurance that you’ll not only let 203 pass, but you’ll even give it a little push.”

  “The waterboarding’s sounding pretty good about now. No assurances, Landen. Just do the right thing.”

  After a moment, he began: “It’s really not much more than what you already know . . .”

  Chapter Eighteen

  AMES PARKER LOOKED up from the report and stared, incredulous, at Steele. “They’re now taking on the memories of each person they consume? Do we really believe this?”

  “The doctors at New World Pharmaceuticals do.”

  The General exhaled heavily and leaned back in his chair. “Do they know how it’s accomplished?”

  “I don’t think so. Moreby got away before they could fully study the process. But we have footage of an intelligent zombie talking about eating someone’s brain, so I’m guessing that’s basically how it’s done.”

  “And Moreby’s been out there spreading this new strain of HRV that makes zombies who grow more intelligent with every person they eat.”

  Steele didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  She’d always been a believer in practicality, in evidence. She wasn’t even sure she still believed in God. When she’d been married to Grant, they’d dutifully attended services every Sunday morning at the local Methodist church, and she’d enjoyed the gatherings. But when Grant had been gunned down, Steele had given up any last shreds of belief in a benevolent presence.

  Now, though, she’d begun to wonder if there wasn’t some omnipotent force after all . . . but just not a benevolent one. Maybe the universe really was ruled by something black and always hungry, something that chose monsters like Thomas Moreby to bequeath part of itself to.

  “So, Steele,” Parker said, pulling her back to earth, “how’d you get Jones to open up?”

  “Well, let’s just say I’m probably up shit creek if I ever need medical attention and he’s the only doctor around.”

  Parker smiled, then looked away and tapped a finger on his desk. “Our plan is a good one, Steele. With those CRVs, we’ve got a real shot at winning, and with a minimal loss of life.”

  “I know, Ames, but . . . you can’t go.”

  He gaped at her, stunned. “What are you saying?”

  “That’s why I wanted to see you tonight, before I showed this report—” she gestured at the computer screen where Landen Jones’ words glowed, “—to anyone else, even the President. We’ve had our suspicions for a while now about the intelligent zombies taking on the memories of whoever they eat, and now we’ve had that confirmed. Do you see where I’m going with this, Ames?”

  “I think so, but . . . tell me anyway.”

  “We’re living almost literally right under Moreby’s nose. Now he’s assembling an intelligent army. There’s only one reason they haven’t shown up down here yet: they don’t know we’re here. Or they know – maybe have only guessed it – but they don’t know how to get down here. If you go up to lead the attack on Moreby and anything goes wrong . . .”

  Parker sagged back in his chair. “Oh my God.”

  “Right – if they get you, Ames, they’ll know exactly where we are, who’s down here, and how to get us.”

  Parker looked away, thinking before he said, “But wouldn’t that be true of an
y of our men?”

  “Most of the ground troops will be coming with the vehicles from Letterkenny, right? Do any of them know about this complex, other than just that it’s somewhere beneath Washington? Do they know who is here?”

  “No . . . but even if we don’t send any of our troops from down here, they’ll need someone to lead them. Colonel Harkins from Letterkenny will be with them and he’s a good, capable soldier, but he doesn’t know the White House and the grounds like I do.”

  “Guide him via phone. Ty will have cameras watching everything. You don’t need to be there.”

  Parker clenched a single fist, his jaw working as he looked away. Steele took the moment to press her point. “Ames, you can’t risk all of us.”

  He finally swallowed and uncurled his fingers. “You’re right, of course. What about the President?”

  “I’ll explain it to her. You should work with Ty to make sure you have all the communications you need.”

  Parker nodded. “Okay. It’s just . . .”

  “I know,” Steele said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE ARMY HAD moved Kevin to a small abandoned office building they’d seized not far from their freeway encampment. He was placed in a windowless storage closet with nothing but a few blankets and a bucket. LaFortune showed up three times a day with food.

  Neither of them talked much, but Kevin came to look forward to her visits for more than just meals. He knew she was wary of him, but he tried to smile at her and stay calm, and do his best to indicate that he wasn’t sick.

  One morning she came early, unlocked the door and motioned him out.

  “What’s up?” Kevin asked, uncertainly.

  LaFortune looked tense. “I’ve notified the Surgeon General’s office about you, but they’re not convinced you’re immune. They want another test.” She loosened her pistol in its holster, making clear that she both had no intention of pulling it but would if necessary.

  Even though he knew he was better off with LaFortune than any of the other soldiers he’d encountered so far, Kevin’s anxiety ramped up. “Where we going?”

  “Not far,” was all she said.

  They exited the building in silence, Kevin walking in front of LaFortune. In the parking lot he saw his old Hummer and felt a small pang as he realized the Army had appropriated it.

  “So am I being transferred or something?”

  LaFortune didn’t – or couldn’t – look at him. “Maybe.” She gestured at a chain-link fence that enclosed the lot. “Over there.”

  They reached the fence and she tossed a pair of handcuffs to him. “Put those on one wrist.”

  He dangled them before his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” Her hand rested on her gun.

  Heart racing, Kevin snapped the cuffs around his left wrist.

  She motioned at the fence. “Now close the other cuff around the fence.”

  Kevin saw no choice. He heard the click as the cuffs locked into place, and wondered if that sound would be one of the last he ever heard. “And you can’t tell me what we’re doing here . . .”

  “Kevin . . .” Now she did look at him, and he saw compassion in her eyes. “I’m really sorry for this. For all of it.”

  She turned away, her eyes scanning the horizon. Looking for something.

  “You’re not my executioner, huh?”

  She turned back to him. “Oh God, no. I actually think you’ll be okay. Which is more than I can say for myself.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re transferring me. Apparently they’re bringing a shitload of equipment down from Letterkenny to launch an assault on Washington. They say they ‘need me’.” Her tone was bitter, and Kevin felt a surprising surge of compassion for her.

  “You don’t seem like career Army.”

  She smiled. “You mean I’m not like the rest of the assholes?”

  Laughing, Kevin said, “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  “Well, you’re right. I’m not.” After a second, she turned to him and said, “Call me Rocky.”

  “Rocky? Really?”

  “It’s short for Raquelle, but nobody calls me that except my mother. When she’s mad at me. Which used to be pretty much all the time.”

  “Okay, Rocky. So what are you doing in the Army?”

  She ran fingers through her short hair before she spoke. “Really, I’m looking for someone. My partner, Jo . . . Jolene. She was the one who actually wanted a career in the Army. Her outfit was stationed in New York when the shit really went down, and they . . .” She broke off.

  Kevin remembered: Manhattan had been nuked. “Oh. I’m sorry. I mean, do you know . . .?”

  Rocky shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I like to think she got out. I keep emailing her messages, pictures . . . but I haven’t heard anything. I know realistically she probably . . .”

  In that instant, Kevin wished he’d met this woman under other circumstances, preferably ones that didn’t involve her being his guard . . . or something worse. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So how did you end up as a sergeant?”

  That brought her head up, and she wiped at her eyes. “I joined up to look for Jo, then they quickly found out I was smart and had a college degree.”

  “In what?”

  “History, if you can believe it. I was going to be a teacher – you know, a college professor. I pictured myself opening young minds and arguing the finer points of feudalism with my fellow academics, and writing books that exactly forty-two people read. Instead, I’m an ex-chauffeur and current Army sergeant with pretty much no future.”

  “At least you’ve still got a job.”

  They both laughed then.

  A few seconds later, Kevin heard a truck approaching.

  “Here they come,” Rocky muttered.

  “Who?”

  A big semi was approaching now, coming from the direction of the road block. Kevin realized it was one of the trucks they’d used to transport the infected in.

  Rocky turned to him with sudden urgency. “Kevin, listen: I won’t be around any more to protect you. I think you’re right and that you’re valuable, and I think these other assholes will figure that out after today but . . . you just have to get through this. I’ll be right here. Okay?”

  “Uh . . . sure . . .”

  The truck rumbled into the parking lot, turned, and began to back towards Kevin and Rocky, its reverse warning signal beeping. It finally stopped, the engine died, and two men in Army uniforms leapt down from the cab and joined Rocky.

  They held long black rods that it took Kevin a few seconds to identify as cattle prods. And something inside the back of the truck was banging on the closed roll-gate.

  One of the two soldiers was the blonde boy who’d first approached Kevin at the blockade. He grinned as he saw the handcuffs. “Well, looks like we’re about to put your theory to the test, Mr ‘I’m Immune’.”

  “Knock it off, Forbes!” Rocky nodded at the rear of the truck. “Let’s get this over with.” She backed away a few steps, drew her pistol and hefted it in both hands.

  The two soldiers – the blonde boy and a middle-aged African American who looked too old to be an Army private – stepped up to the gate. The boy yanked a lever back and grabbed the handle. The pounding inside increased, and now Kevin heard desperate moaning.

  “One . . . two . . .” The boy’s fingers tightened, “. . . three.”

  The roll-gate rattled up, the two soldiers jumped back, lifting their prods – and the zombie in the truck tumbled out.

  It was a twenty-something woman, still dressed in the remains of bloodied hospital scrubs with a teddy bear print. She hit the ground and crumpled, and Kevin hoped she wouldn’t get back up . . . but after a few seconds she lifted her large body with difficulty. She was missing much of the meat between her neck and one shoulder, and it made her head wobble to one side. It would have been comical if her eyes hadn’t fi
xed on Kevin, a crimson-tinted froth spilling from her cracked lips.

  She staggered forward, and the blonde boy called out to his companion, “Pepper, get behind her.” In that instant, she turned on the boy – and he jabbed forward with the prod, which erupted in a crackling buzz as it connected with her chest. She drew back, her moan increasing. The other soldier gave her a touch of his prod, and she turned his way. He zapped her again and she stumbled away from him . . .

  Towards Kevin.

  He instinctively shrank back as her eyes fixed on him. “Rocky—!”

  There was no answer. He didn’t dare look away from the dead thing.

  She shambled forward, head lolling, and reached out for him.

  He pulled back as far as the cuffs would let him. He tried to call out again, but his voice died in his throat.

  The zombie grabbed his cuffed arm. She opened her mouth.

  Kevin screamed as her head darted downwards and her teeth clamped on his arm.

  “Okay, that’s it!” Kevin heard Rocky calling. He saw the two soldiers leap forward with the prods, both jabbing the zombie at the same time.

  The zombie’s jaws opened in shock, and it turned, seeking the ones with the prods.

  Rocky stepped in, raised her pistol three feet from the zombie’s head and shot it. It hit the ground, truly dead.

  Kevin felt pain and looked at his arm, where a ring of bite marks had broken the surface, but the wound didn’t look deep or serious.

  “Get that thing out of here,” Rocky told the two soldiers. They set the prods aside and started to drag the corpse away. Rocky opened a small pack attached to her belt, withdrew a roll of gauze and tape, and began wrapping Kevin’s arm as he panted, more from the aftermath of fear than pain.

  She talked to him softly as she dressed the wound. “The brass needed to be sure that you’re immune to HRV and they didn’t completely trust your stories about where your scratches came from. So they ordered this. They’ll watch you for a few days now, make sure you don’t get sick, then . . . well, they’ll probably treat you pretty well from that point on.”