Pavlov's Dogs (5 page)

After about forty yards, he saw he wasn’t the only one with that idea; other drivers had seen something that spooked them, and were swerving out onto the grass, trying to get around the blockage in the road. Shapes hung onto the cars closer to the accident: some on the hood, some still leaning in through the windows. Feet kicked blindly for purchase, and the cars slalomed from side to side.

Jorge came running down the median, fleeing from another figure behind him. He wasn’t watching where he was going, and didn’t notice the old station wagon with a madman on its hood, heading right for him.

Stomping the gas, Ken sent Big Bertha surging forward. The heavy bumper of the Blazer clipped the rear end of the station wagon and sent it into a long, sideways skid. Its lead wheels hit a ditch and the station wagon rolled, missing Jorge by an inch. The hijacker on the hood went spiraling off into space, his arms and legs as loose as a rag doll’s.

Ken watched it fly, and felt a thump as the Blazer hit something. He had a sick certainty that he hadn’t hit a log. He stopped the Blazer and looked out; a man with twisted and crushed legs reached up toward the window, desperately pulling himself along on one arm. Ken groaned and opened the Blazer door.

He had stepped out to help the man when a terrific crunch of metal on metal pulled Ken’s head up. On the highway, a huge passenger van had just collided with the wrecker, and they both were careening down the sloping median, right into another vehicle, this one a bright-red Jeep Cherokee.

A moan from the grass brought Ken’s head back around.

I just hit a guy
, he thought, and a cold sweat sprang from nothing on his brow.
Holy shit, I just hit a guy.

“Hey!” Jorge yelled, scrambling for the door handle on the Blazer’s passenger side. Behind him, aided by the peculiar slope of the median, the injured man staggered after, almost catching up. Ken was struck by the missing face.

And don’t forget
, a gleeful voice sang in the back of his head,
you just hit a guy.

Jorge got into the car and slammed the door shut. Without even trying for the handle, the man without a face slapped his hands against the window and brought his mouth to it, jaws opening wide to bite at the smooth glass.

“Well?” Jorge yelled, and Ken snapped out of it.

With one last glance at the man he’d hit, Ken got into the Blazer, yelling, “I’m sorry!”

He eased onto the gas and spun the wheel, turning the heavy vehicle away from the carnage. Another car behind them flipped as it tried to do the same thing, and within seconds, staggering, shuffling figures descended on it like ants on a dead bird.

Ken goosed the accelerator, and the Blazer shot forward. “What the hell was that?” he yelled. His hands were shaking even as they squeezed the steering wheel.

Jorge shook his head. “I lost my phone.”

“Your
phone?
That guy had no
face
. What the—Jesus!”

All four tires locked up as Ken slammed on the brakes, sending the Blazer into a skid. Big Bertha swayed, but held the road.

People who had run from the attackers now stood on the eastbound side of the highway, right where Ken was headed. There were maybe four pedestrians in all, and he made a snap decision.

“Let them in,” he said.

“
What?
Did you
see
what was happening?”

Ken hit the steering wheel. “Hell yeah, I saw. And we can help them.”
And you hit a guy!
his conscience screamed. “Let them in.” He set his jaw, and Jorge had seen enough of that look at work to know he shouldn’t even try to convince him otherwise.

“Whatever you say, boss. But I ain’t getting out.” He opened the door and shouted at the people. “Hey, free ride!”

Reaching down, Jorge leaned his seat forward for everyone to climb into the back, but he didn’t make enough room. The first person to try, a young woman, had to blow out all of her breath to get through.

“Come on, Jorge,” Ken said. “Really? Just get out, already. God
damn
, man, lay off the beer.”

Shooting a black look at Ken, Jorge got out and stepped out of the way. As he did, several figures flocked to the open door, and soon the back seat was stuffed with four huddled people. Before Jorge could react, someone else, a sweaty fat man with a flat face and olive-hued skin, locked Jorge’s seat in its upright position and jumped right in.

Jorge stared at him in disbelief, then his jaw dropped when yet another person jumped in the front, a slight girl holding a small dog.

“Ken...” he said.

“I don’t know,” Ken replied, realizing that it really wasn’t an answer. The Blazer rocked, and he looked back, seeing people clambering onto the tool trailer, escaping the screams and gunshots behind them.

He blew out a breath, looked at Jorge, and cocked his head toward the trailer. “Just get on, man.”

“Ken!”

“Just
do it
, will you? This isn’t the time.”

Jorge’s face darkened, but he nodded. “There will be a time, you can bet your ass on that.” He tromped to the back of the Blazer and got in.

BY THE TIME DR. CRISPIN and the three team leaders made it back to the dining room, it was already full to capacity and beyond. All manner of men and women with worried looks lined the walls. Many of them Donovan didn’t recognize from dinner, like the large man with dirty blond hair who stood at the front of the dining room. The man’s thumbs were hooked in the belt loops of his dark-blue coveralls.

Donovan looked around and shook his head at the general atmosphere of anxiety. A glance at Jaden’s face told him the head of security shared his feelings. Dr. Crispin’s announcement over the loudspeakers had been poorly worded and frightening, but at least it had achieved the desired effect: everyone had gathered in one place as quickly as possible.

Ignoring all the pleading glances, Dr. Crispin marched to the front of the room. As he passed the large blond man in coveralls, he put his hand out, and the big man dropped his head once in quick acknowledgment.

“That’s Alpha McLoughlin,” Jaden told Donovan. “The rest of the Dogs are there behind him, minus Kaiser and Samson.”

“They’re still in therapy?” Donovan’s sharp eyes roved over the band of homiform Dogs, wondering what they would look like after they changed.

At the head of the room, Dr. Crispin took to a podium that a member of the maintenance staff had set up. Two harried-looking technicians were hooking a sleek black microphone into an amplifier, which they had already attached to a pair of oversized speakers.

Dr. Crispin tapped the microphone, filling the room with a whine of feedback. The reaction was universal.

“Good, it works,” he said. “I have an announcement. If any of you have already heard the rumors, it appears that they are true. As we dine, as we speak, the world outside our compound has been
set upon
by... well, I don’t know how else to put it.” He looked around the room. “The walking dead.”

This was met with a mixture of gasps and guffaws. Those who were off-shift and had been watching the news, or those who were otherwise informed of the wide-scale rioting and upheaval, took the announcement with a resigned dignity—with a few exceptions. One lady (
The quiet Lucy
, Donovan thought) broke down into sobbing hysterics.

The laughter slowly died off as people around the room finally realized that, no, Dr. Crispin had not suddenly developed a sense of humor.

“I can’t say what this will mean for us,” Crispin said. “As far as we can tell, from the reports coming over the wireless and other sources, the phenomenon is widespread and universal. Communications—”

“What do you mean, you don’t know what this means for us?” Joshua, the male nurse, said. His co-worker Alison tried to calm him down, but he recoiled from her as if she were holding a python. “This is serious.”

“It is serious,” Luke Jaden said, striding forward to join Dr. Crispin at the podium. “But we don’t know what’s being done. We can only assume that FEMA or Homeland Security is operating on a plan, and we may have to hold tight here for a couple of days.”

Dr. Crispin nodded, placing his hand on the security man’s shoulder. “Mr. Jaden is correct. We all know I’ve had my falling out with the military, but that was the upper brass. We need to have some kind of faith in the men and women on the ground.”

Lucy spoke up through her tears. “What if it’s longer than that? What if they just, I don’t know, cordon the area off and leave us to rot?”

The other Lucy put a hand on the shuddering arm of her counterpart and patted it. At the same time, she stared over the rim of her glass at Dr. Crispin as she drank.

“Ah, that’s one of the things I’ve gathered everyone for,” Crispin answered. “As soon as we leave this room, each of the department heads will go immediately to your respective areas and obtain an inventory of supplies. Especially the medical personnel.” He turned their way, spearing Ronald with a glare. “We need amounts, projected usage rates, expiration dates. And, maintenance...” He swiveled to take in Holly, who met his gaze coolly. “Inventory—”

“Spare parts and consumables, yes, Doctor.” She tapped a tall, grimy man on the forearm to make sure he got it.

Donovan kept watching the Dogs. They couldn’t keep still, as one would expect a paramilitary unit to hold themselves. Instead they were jittery, as if they could barely contain all of that mad energy he’d seen in the sparring cage.

“Effective immediately,” Jaden said, “all watches on sonar and radar are doubled around the clock. Two bodies at all times. Coast patrol will venture no farther out than one nautical mile. Any and all trips from the main compound to any outlying buildings will be in groups of no less than three.”

Other than the Alpha
, Donovan thought,
they all look ready to split out of their skins and rend something
. He smiled at the thought.
Magnificent creatures
.

“The medical facilities will be guarded,” Jaden concluded. Some of the looks shifted from frightened to insulted.

“You don’t have a bunch of junkies here,” someone behind Donovan said. The sentiment was met with grunts of agreement and more dirty looks.

“Now listen,” Dr. Crispin said, holding up his hands. “Mr. Jaden is only doing his job. I’m certain there’s nothing personal in the, ah, implementation of these security protocols—”

“Yes, there is,” Jaden interrupted. “I know for a fact there have been thefts of hydrocodone and morphine from our medical stores.”

Dr. Crispin’s eyes shifted from Jaden to Ron Michaels. The sweaty medical man shook his head.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Crispin told Jaden, putting his hand over the microphone.

“In addition,” Jaden continued as if he had never been interrupted, “the comms room will be locked and the satellite television system secured.”

“You can’t do that!” someone at the IT table cried.

“Hold on,” Dr. Crispin said, finally raising his voice. “I didn’t bring you here to debate the security measures demanded by protocol. I brought you here to apprise you of the situation, and to ask you a question.”

Quiet fell over the entire room. Dr. Crispin was never one to poll for an opinion. On anything.

This was something different.

He looked around the cafeteria until he had each and every person’s full attention. The silence grew, bloated and pregnant, until everyone was certain they had never been anywhere more still.

“We are in a unique position,” he finally said. “The conventional authorities are undoubtedly overwhelmed by both the nature of this situation and its apparent, ah, vastness. Can you imagine it? Everywhere, all at once, there are dead people walking, moving,
attacking
the living.” His voice fell off, and the silence remained, so thorough that everyone heard the rustle of fabric as Dr. Crispin shifted his neck inside its collar.

“Conventional methods will not work with this decidedly unconventional situation. And herein lies my dilemma. As mentioned before, I have a history with the heads of state and military leaders, and perhaps I’m too close to make a clear-headed decision.” He stretched out his hand, indicating the Dogs, who stood now at perfect attention. “We have with us on the island the perfect rescue unit. This kind of situation is exactly what the Dogs were designed for! Dangerous extractions from behind enemy lines. Elite members of our military, recrafted, reforged into something entirely superior. So this is what I am asking. Should we deploy the Dogs to assist with search and rescue efforts?”

The dining room erupted with murmurs, and each table exploded with conversation.

Donovan struggled to overhear what everyone was saying. He found himself stricken with a sick fear at the thought of McLoughlin’s pack leaving the island for any reason.

“Please,” Dr. Crispin said into the microphone, his amplified voice cutting cleanly through the talk. “Please, deliberate amongst yourselves. Each department should tally your own votes and present them through your department head.”

Donovan was already shaking his head, ready to veto any positive vote put forward by any member of his neurotech unit. He looked to the table he had sat at earlier during dinner, and saw his trio of assistants with their heads together, talking quickly.