by Byrd, Daniel
"General Houseman," the Air Force Joint Chief of Staff, John Welch, started, "pardon my curt words, but are you acting stupid?"
Houseman bit his tongue and took a deep breath before responding, "That man may be dangerous, but he's the only one who even has the slightest clue as to how the virus works. He's the only chance we have at stopping it, and he'll prove vital in the weeks to come."
Welch accusingly pointed his finger. "What's vital is that you're allowing a criminal to work unsupervised in-"
"He's under my constant supervision at all times. I have men watching his every action, and-"
"Yes," Secretary of Defense Arnold Martin cut in, "I've heard of the rather large number of men you've had assigned to keep that man under watch. That number is large because he keeps threatening to turn them into his science projects! He infected one with the measles, did he not?"
Houseman broke into a sweat. He hated Martin. The pudgy bastard always came off as a snide prick with a voice too high for his mass. "The doctor isn't capable of harming anyone. If he steps out of line-"
"General," Arnold Martin said sternly, "he already did."
Houseman pulled on the collar of his uniform. He wasn't sure if it was him, or the room, but it was uncomfortably hot in here for winter in the north. “Secretary Martin, I understand that you aren't happy with the situation, and I promise you that I'm not either, but we have an asset in that man, and that asset outweighs the liabilities right now.”
“That asset is why we have radiation from nuclear fallout drifting into Mexico and a very angry Latin America! It's only thanks to the Nor'easter that we aren't feeling the repercussions of the B-83 that was dropped on Newark, and that will only last so long!”
“Plus the bomb that hit the ground in Missouri before detonating,” Welch added. “Of all the mistakes, that one proved very detrimental in creating an uninhabitable zone of radiation that won't go away for a long time after we've settled this matter.”
Houseman had almost forgotten about that incident. The Spirit that dropped that one hadn't made the mistake. The bomb just kept going and refused to detonate in the air like the rest and impacted inside of Kansas City. The surrounding areas that weren't destroyed were heavily irradiated. Fate really hated Missouri, or someone did. Nukes didn't discriminate, but damn if that one didn't. The pilots swore it wasn't their miscalculation. If it was, then that was a hell of an intentional blow. Megacorpse was meant for heavy population zones, but that was overkill.
"That's enough, gentlemen," a man in the front row commanded. "General, am I to believe he will be part of the operation?"
Houseman looked to the President of the United States and nodded. Loft was always a reasonable man, and the idea for the operation came from him. He may have taken a rather cowardly course of action during the outbreak, but Houseman was just glad he wasn't tearing his head off right now along with the rest of the vultures. “Yes, sir. Dr. Hamilton is the key to making the operation a success. That is why I have called you all here today. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the beginning of our retaliation against the undead. We have built our walls to maintain protection, but now we must strike at the source, and end this apocalyptic threat to mankind. As I speak, the virus is emerging all over the world, from third world countries to huge population centers in Europe. Russia has seen small-scale outbreaks, and they are spreading rapidly towards the edges of their border. We bought ourselves time with Megacorpse, but now it's expired. It's time to end this, before it ends us."
The doors to the auditorium burst open, stealing the spotlight. A young man in a white lab coat entered from the front left of the room and looked around at the gathered brass. Behind him was a young officer who appeared irritated.
"Doctor!" the Major hissed into the young man's ear. "I specifically told you to wait for me! Why didn't you just look at the books like you wanted to or something?!"
The doctor tilted his head to him and answered, eyes still on the people watching them, "I did. I couldn't find anything of interest." He stood there awkwardly, unnerved by the attention. "This reminds me of high school, you know, when you'd walk into a classroom right after everyone had been talking about you." No one spoke. Everyone continued to stare. "Really, just me? Then again, high school wasn't the best experience…"
Houseman cleared his throat to get the doctor's attention, and pointed to the spot right next to himself at the front of the audience. Hamilton looked around, before looking back to the General and pointing to himself. Houseman nodded, glaring with eyes that seemed to tell Hamilton that he was close to changing his mind about keeping him alive. The doctor made his way to stand next to the General in front of a group of people who didn't appear delighted to see him.
This never gets old. Reminds me of the time you had to apologize to the board of directors at Princeton for that rabies-infected dog you let loose."
"Hey!" Hamilton hissed, his eyes rolled to his right, but talking to no one around him in particular. "I didn't release the dog! He escaped my confines while I was working on the other subject!"
Who was a volunteer freshman you had asked to sit down while you prepared to release the dog from the closet. Yeah, that sounds so much better. I'll never understand how you were never kicked out.
"Dr. Evan Hamilton here has been working nonstop on reverse engineering the virus-"
Hamilton had been distracted, but that bit caught his attention. “Actually, General, reverse engineering would imply that I don't know how it works. I understand the-"
"Hamilton," Houseman muttered, "shut up."
Hamilton scratched the back of his neck, not grasping the idea of speaking when spoken to. “As you wish?"
"As I was saying, the doctor has been looking for a solution since the day after he was brought into our custody. Dr. Hamilton, as you all know from the report, decided to take it upon himself to infiltrate the Emmerich Research Facility and attempt to end Tuefel's plans."
Hamilton couldn't help but give Houseman a quizzical look, but he wasn't paying attention.
Infiltration would imply you snuck in covertly. Your stupid ass went knowing damn well you were going to go guns-blazing at some point.
"Though he was successful in wiping Tuefel and his experiments from existence, there was no stopping the course of events that followed. Hamilton's actions revealed that there is another threat out there with the same weapon. While he was recovering in the hospital we received word from someone claiming to be a member of an organization that wanted us to believe that they have access to the very same virus Tuefel used on us. Though there were doubts," Houseman said, eying Arnold Martin in the front row, "recent events seem to support these claims."
The Secretary of Defense snorted. "And who is to say that we didn't just fail to contain the infection? Maybe someone got around the quarantine?"
Houseman stifled a mocking laugh. "Anyone who says that is in denial. Also, how does that explain the multiple outbreaks across the entire globe?"
Arnold Martin was turning red. "I…"
Houseman loved to prove his opponents wrong. "And I think you'll find my next piece of evidence quite convincing."
There was audible chatter amongst the inhabitants of the room as a screen slowly descended from the ceiling behind the General. An African American man stood up and approached the front of the auditorium as Houseman stepped to the side, tugging the doctor along with him. The new person on stage stood at the podium as the screen halted feet above the floor. He turned to Hamilton and smiled, leaning away from the microphone.
"Dr. Hamilton, it's nice to finally meet you. I hear you've caused quite a few problems for the people in this room."
Hamilton thought that the man seemed familiar. He wasn't sure if it was the man's deep voice, or his face. Pondering, he placed his hand on his chin and squinted. This man was rather tall, charismatic, and spoke rather politely to Hamilton compared to the other officials on this campus. His graying hair represented unspoken stress that weighed
him down quite often. His dark eyes were sincere, but serious nonetheless. The way he carried himself was like that of any politician.
"Doctor?"
It finally hit him. He'd never met the man in person, but remembered first hearing of the former senator who gave Tuefel the green light on his project. Since then he'd only ever seen the man on television screens or news sites. "Mr. President? President Loft?"
The man in the suit nodded. "It's about time I finally get to meet the man behind the stories. Don't worry, you'll get your turn to talk in a minute. You'll find this next part more interesting than the rest of the people here."
Hamilton was intrigued, but didn't have time to question the President further as the Commander-in-Chief turned to the crowd of officials before him.
"Now that we're all here," Loft started, "we can begin. Ladies and gentlemen, one hour ago we received a new message from the Welt zu Kommen. Translated, this is what it reads."
He held up a remote and turned on the projector above the crowd. On the screen behind him was a window with a blue sound wave on a black background. The voice that spoke was distorted to mask the identity, but the accent didn't sound foreign.
"Greetings. I am Geisterbeschwörer of the Welt zu Kommen. If that is difficult to pronounce, then you may call me der Nekromant. It makes no difference. By the time you are listening to this, the virus that brought your country to its knees will be sitting on every surface of the world. We have given you Americans enough time to consider the previous deal, and you have taken too long with a response. Our hand has been forced. The offer still stands, but there must be consequences to ensure that you know who you are dealing with. The infections of the United Kingdom and Russia are underway, and more will follow. Consider this a favor, as we know that the world left America to rot as the virus swept your people. Dr. Hamilton, if you are listening, you still have a chance to keep the casualties to a minimum. After all, it is thanks to you that we've managed to move forward with our plans. If you should wish to join us in our endeavor, make your way to Berlin. Go to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. You will find one of our own there. Come alone, and bring with you that which belongs to us. You have until five pm German time next Monday. I advise you not to bring any unwelcome guests. We'd love to recreate the events that took place in Austin, Texas. The other two Havens seem viable as targets, and I'm sure you would agree. There is no use in resistance. For every number humanity will lose, we will gain another in our forces. We demand no ransom, and we demand no groveling. We only want you to witness our moment of triumph as the destruction of this Hell becomes a reality. No more conflicting ideals. No more human hatred. No more governments, and no more conflict. We who remain will start over anew with a clean slate. We will fear nothing. To resist the conversion is to accept death as an ending to life, and paradise will be lost to you. I only wish you Americans would have realized this sooner.”
Hamilton could feel everyone staring at him. He closed his eyes and focused on ignoring their glares, but the news was setting in. Of course, he didn't want to help them further damage the world, but he wanted to understand just how he had helped them. President Loft pressed a button on the remote, and the display changed to a live broadcast from London. A news chopper was flying over the city while the camera panned in on a large number of people and cars fleeing in all directions in the streets below. The view then centered in on an unusual group of people trailing behind the madness. None of the figures chasing the fleeing crowd appeared to be doing so in a collective, mob-manner. All of them were either stumbling into vehicles or tripping over themselves before getting back up and continuing the pursuit, nothing in their way deterring them. No one in the room had a doubt as to what the pursuers were. It was a grisly spectacle, with people being trampled and left for the undead. Some cars fleeing the scene were running down everything in sight, including the living. It was pure chaos. It was then that Hamilton knew that he'd been in his lab for far too long. He stepped forward towards the podium as Hampton kept uttering his name, begging for him to come back.
"So," Hamilton said plainly, addressing the President, "it's already started?"
President Loft turned to him and nodded. "Small-scale outbreaks have occurred throughout the past several days. I assume you've been too busy in the lab to notice. I had hoped that the information we had passed on to the rest of the world would have helped, but no one expressed interest in listening to the losers."
Major Hampton was enraged. "Those bastards still think we're to blame for this. They think we failed to contain it. There are talks of retaliation from some countries. If North Korea wasn't so caught up in their own fortifications and protocols they'd probably be looking for any excuse to declare war against us! You would think any information they could obtain from the losers would prove beneficial, but they'd rather continue to fight until we're all dead! Hospitals are being burned, cemeteries vandalized and military personnel ridiculed as murderers! There's nothing but madness out there!”
"Anything they could get from us would only benefit them if they can use it correctly," Hamilton pointed out as the police force rolled onto the scene in London. Loft turned off the display before the anticipated bloodbath began. Everyone knew only a select few officers could carry firearms in London, and none of the ones emerging from the cars appeared to be armed units. That fight was going to be terribly one-sided.
"What other countries have been affected so far?" Hamilton asked.
"Parts of China, India, Brazil, and South Africa have multiple reports of the bodies of the dead attacking the living. Major population centers, as you can see. We've had some of our top analysts crunch the numbers, and…" President Loft pressed another button on the remote and the screen behind him displayed an image of the world, with the countries distinguishable. The impacted areas so far were highlighted in red. The U.S. was crimson.
Fancy.
"Fancy," Hamilton echoed.
President Loft continued. "The number men have concluded that the infection-"
"In comparison to the three to four weeks it took to impact the U.S., will spread throughout the world in less than three months' time," Hamilton cut in, "assuming people travel to escape and ignorantly carry the virus with them to unaffected areas. Not to mention the unknown variables, like how many more vectors the World to Come have, and where they are. The World Health Organization is going to have a fun time keeping up with it all."
"As if anything the U.N. does works," Hampton remarked. "Look at that aircraft carrier we got down into the Gulf during the events in Austin, not to mention the two nuclear submarines we have in waiting. Salvation was used despite their sanctions. We still have the other to utilize should it be required. All we'd need is-”
"Major!" Houseman interjected. Hampton was obviously saying things he shouldn't have been, but didn't seem to care. Houseman glared at him, but Hampton jut shrugged.
"Sir, it's not like it matters. We're all aware of it. The violation required the cooperation of most of the people in this very room. Besides that, I think that everyone in this room is more concerned about stopping those things at any costs than following pointless sanctions. The virus is global; all quarantines against us are pretty much null and void."
"Now just a minute-," Martin began to argue from the crowd. Hamilton wasn't listening to the babble. He was staring at the screen in fury. He had sacrificed so much, overcome too many things to stop Tuefel back at the facility. He had been warned that his efforts were in vain, but seeing the reality unfold infuriated him beyond anything he'd ever felt before. He didn't do what he did to save the world. He did it to fuck Tuefel over. He could hear the bastard laughing at him now…clearly, like the voice in his head was mimicking him. It sounded just like the bastard.
As I said, I was preparing for war.
Hamilton closed his eyes and tried to ignore Tuefel's words as the laughter drowned out everything. His fists curled up as President Loft addressed him.
&nbs
p; "Dr. Hamilton."
Hamilton snapped his head back to the President, the laughter in his mind gone. "Hm?"
"As I said, I've been told that you served as quite a nuisance to a lot of the people in this room."
The doctor looked around as the focus of attention shifted to him once more. He felt a little uneasy as his gaze met Houseman's. Staring a deadman down wasn't as intimidating.
"I've also been told that you've been doing a great service to this country by volunteering to research the virus. How is your work coming along?"
Hamilton tapped his foot on the floor and crossed his arms as he shot Houseman a smug look.
Volunteered? Right.
"Doctor," Hampton pressed, "the President asked you a question."
"It's going well, sir. I'm in the process...pardon me, was in the process of removing the brain of the most dangerous subject Tuefel created.”
Houseman nodded. "Subject No. 115, the one who could control the others."
"That is correct. I've had no choice but to utilize her body in a useful manner…since you bastards refuse to let me give her a proper burial like I requested!"
Houseman held up a hand. "It wasn't my decision. I can see why it was made though. We need to understand how such a feat is possible. You're sure you didn't work on this during the project?"
"No. I left before they got into the human experimentation, remember? I shut the whole thing down over it. He turned her into a guinea pig just like the rest, and perfected this new method."
"Yet you managed to stop her. Quite an impressive feat on your part doctor," Loft said in acknowledgment.
"I just got lucky." It had taken Hamilton time to realize that Julia never could actually see him. Her initial autopsy revealed that her eyes were rotten. It made sense as to how she couldn't find him buried under the tree branch that had knocked him out during their fight. She couldn't see him, nor smell his presence. She used the other deadmen to find him through their sounds. He'd gotten lucky all right.
