Plague Town (9 page)

“Jesus...” Knowles swallowed several times, probably trying not to lose his lunch. Gentry knew how he felt; he’d been there himself on his first mission.

Shots rang out as the four men took out the enemy. The percussion of gunfire mixed with Atherton’s coughing.

Gentry tapped him on the shoulder

“You okay, man?”

“Fine. Just need me some cough syrup or something.”

Gentry caught a glimpse of very dark blood as Atherton wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. That did not look good. But before he could pursue the matter, fire lit up the back of his calf as something tore through his pants and into the flesh beneath.

“Motherfucker
!
”

Gentry looked down to see what was once a little boy in diapers and a Sponge Bob T-shirt chewing on his right leg. The sergeant immediately raised the stock of his M-4 and smashed it into the zombie toddler’s skull. Once, twice, three times, until it fell to the ground, a mouthful of flesh and camo fabric clenched between its teeth.

“Motherfucker.” Gentry whispered it this time. He knew what a bite meant.

No time to feel sorry for himself, though. More zeds were pouring out from the back of the shop, at least ten of them. He heard Knowles scream as he was borne to the ground, caught by surprise. Atherton moved in to help, but was incapacitated by another coughing fit. Three zombies swarmed him before he could recover.

Gentry would take out as many zeds as he could before the virus took him. He hoped at least one of his teammates survived to do right by him.

“As I was saying,” Simone continued, moving past my taste in movies, “many of the outbreaks were easily brought under quarantine. Since this virus wasn’t airborne, pandemics were rare. In the past, limited travel options made it more difficult to spread any virus, especially in isolated pockets of civilization.

“And then—” Simone paused. “Three outbreaks occurred with the potential to become apocalyptic. Drastic quarantine measures were taken in each case. For instance, Pompeii and its sister town of Herculaneum were so heavily infected that we believe Vesuvius was deliberately caused to erupt.”

I stared at her.

“You have
got
to be kidding. I mean, what? A bulimic volcano? Did someone stick a finger down its throat?”

Simone laughed abruptly, as if the sound was startled out of her.

“You have a unique way of viewing things, Ashley.”

“But what
really
happened?”

“Well, we know it was the plan, but as to whether or not they succeeded, or the eruption was just a lucky coincidence, that information was lost. Regardless, the plague was wiped out.”

“Seriously?”

Simone nodded.

“You see, there have been small groups over the centuries that have been aware of the existence of the zombie virus. Over the centuries these various splinter groups have joined together, and they’ve taken whatever steps were necessary to insure that the disease didn’t run out of control. You’ve heard of Atlantis, yes?”

I assumed it was a rhetorical question, but nodded anyway.

“There’s a reason it’s under twenty leagues of saltwater.”

“No way.”

“Oh, yes.” Simone didn’t look or sound as if she was joking. “Those who fought to keep the zombie plague contained took measures to... er... pull the plug when the infection’s spread couldn’t be stopped. They did so at the cost of their own lives.”

Okay, this was just too much.

“No way,” I repeated.

“They opened a series of flood ports in ever increasing circles until the water flowed in, which further unbalanced several unstable fault lines.”

“What I don’t get,” I said, still struggling to wrap my brain around everything she’d told me so far, “is how historical events that big have been covered up. I mean, it’s not like they had the CIA back in those days.”

Simone looked at me with an expression that seemed like pity.

“There have been cover-ups as long as there have been governments, organizations, and politicians, Ashley, ever since the first Cro-Magnon figured out that he could smooth-talk his neighbor out of a hunk of mammoth meat instead of beating it out of him.

“Although, there will always be those who prefer the beating to the talking.”

“But
why
cover it up?” I asked. “Why not just tell people what’s going on, so they could deal with it if it happened again?”

“I suppose it’s because some things are too horrific for the average person to cope with without losing his or her sanity. The concept of the living dead would crack the walls of reality for many people.”

“Or maybe it’s because there’s always some arrogant asshat who wants to decide what people do and don’t need to know,” I snapped.

“You’re absolutely right,” Simone said. “But some things will never change. Like the infantilizing of the masses by those in power.”

“Whatever you call it, it sucks,” I muttered.

“It does indeed,” Simone agreed. “But on the other hand, imagine the uncontrollable panic that would erupt if it became known that the dead walked. Especially amongst extremely superstitious societies. A great many people would die needlessly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “better to get the situation under control as quickly and quietly as possible, spin a plausible story for the survivors, and avoid the chaos of mass hysteria.”

“So what’s the cover story for this outbreak?”

“Er... the virulent outbreak of a new Ebola strain.” She actually looked embarrassed as she continued. “Caused by an infected laboratory monkey on campus.” I stared at her, and she added, “It wasn’t my idea.”

I finished my soup, thinking about what she’d said. She stayed silent, and I spoke up again.

“But what if there’s an outbreak that gets out of hand?” I asked. “What if there are no volcanoes or whatever they did to sink Atlantis?”

Simone’s gaze darted to the side for just an instant before she replied.

“So far, humans are the only viable host, which is a blessing. If it could be spread by another vector—the way fleas spread what started as the bubonic plague—well, 75 million people were claimed by the Black Death between 1347 and 1351.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“No... no, I suppose it doesn’t.” Simone leaned back in her chair, pushing her hair off her forehead as she massaged her temples.

I glared at her.

“So stop ‘infantilizing’ me.”

“I’m sorry, Ashley.” She looked sincere. “Habits of a lifetime are hard to break. I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can.”

I nodded, somewhat mollified. I began to speak, but something she’d said sidetracked me.

“What do you mean, ‘started as’ the bubonic plague?”

“I mentioned three outbreaks. The plague reached Sicily in October 1347, along with an outbreak of the walking death. Both diseases spread throughout Europe, nearly wiping out civilization. That catastrophe was, point of fact, what brought the splinter groups together.”

“So what if there’s an outbreak that can’t be contained?” I repeated. “Nuke time?”

“I hope not.” Simone stared at me grimly. “In this instance, special units trained to deal with this were mobilized immediately after the first sighting. But—” She paused, a frown furrowing her brow. “Something’s different this time. We haven’t located the source of this particular outbreak. It’s showing up spontaneously in pockets of populations, which would suggest that it’s mutated to an airborne pathogen. But so far tests have negated the possibility.”

“So you don’t know why it’s spreading?”

“No,” she admitted. “And to make things worse, the symptoms start out very much like a bad case of the flu. Specifically, Walker’s.”

That sent a shiver down my spine, and I stared at her, horrified. Zara’s eyes had shown the same jaundiced, bloodshot whites. I wondered if my roommate was still
alive, or if she’d died in blood-soaked agony, only to reanimate as a hungry, walking corpse.

The door opened and Gabriel dashed in. He addressed Simone as if I wasn’t even there.

“Professor Fraser, Alpha Team found another pocket in a tourist stop ten miles up the road.” He paused and added, “It’s definitely spreading.”

“Any more symptoms amongst the teams?”

Gabriel nodded.

“Three more Alphas are showing initial symptoms and another was bitten. I’ve quarantined them.”

Simone took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

“Damn. This isn’t good. We’re running out of manpower far too quickly.”

“I know. But I think we may also have another wild card—the soldier who was bitten.” He paused, then added, “It’s Gentry.”

Simone blanched.

“Oh, I hope you’re right. He’s a good man. I’d hate to lose him.”

“He has a nasty wound on one leg, but seems to be shaking off the infection. Just like Ashley.” Gabriel nodded at me, his gaze skittering away when I made eye contact. “The outcome looks good.”

Simone immediately brightened.

“That
is
good news. I’ll be along to see him after I’ve finished briefing Ashley.”

Gabriel nodded and left the room.

“Briefing?” I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a feeble cough. “That sounds awfully military.”

Simone sighed.

“It is, Ashley. Which leads me to the real reason you’re here.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t disappoint me.

“You are part of less than point-zero-zero-one percent of the population who can survive being bitten by a
zombie.” She stared intently at me. “You are what we refer to as a wild card.”

I tried not to laugh.

Do we all get membership cards and decoder rings with our Dr. Tachyon fan club?

“Not only does some genetic predisposition enable you to survive a bite without becoming one of the walking dead,” she continued, “but the virus also enhances your natural strength, speed, and reflexes.”

Now I had to laugh.

“So, what?” I asked. “I’m, like, a mutant or something?”

Simone shook her head.

“I’m quite serious, Ashley,” she persisted. “Wild cards are hard to kill and heal fast. Surely you’ve noticed that your wounds aren’t nearly as bad as they should be so soon after the initial trauma.

“And with a fever and infection as extreme as the ones you had twelve hours ago, you shouldn’t be able to sit up on your own, let alone help subdue a zombie.”

I glanced at her, surprised.

“Oh, yes, Gabriel told me about your quick thinking with... well, with your boyfriend.” She looked at me, probably to see how I reacted to that, but at this point my emotions were pretty much on hold. “You’re quite a remarkable young woman, Ashley. And not just because of your immunity to the zombie virus. You’re exactly the type of person we need.”

I was starting to get pissed off with all of the dancing.

“Who the hell is ‘we?’” I demanded. “Some kind of secret government zombie squad?”

Simone gave an indelicate snort.

“Zombie squad indeed,” she said, then tilted her head to the side. “It sounds rather like a Disney movie.

“But we call ourselves the
Dolofónoi tou Zontanoús Nekroús
.” Seeing my blank look she added, “Loosely translated, killers of the living dead.” She shook her head
and continued. “The government
is
involved, in that the
Dolofónoi
has members placed in all key nations at the very highest level. ‘Black ops’ doesn’t begin to cover the amount of secrecy involved.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Since you told me, now you have to kill me?”

She smiled, shook her head.

“On the contrary, Ashley, you are now one of our most valuable assets. You see, because of the random spread of infection, the increasing frequency with which our teams are developing symptoms, and our current inability to pinpoint the cause, we are dangerously short-handed.

“We could easily lose control of the situation,” she added, and the look on her face told me she wasn’t exaggerating.

“What about bringing in more military from the outside?” I asked.

“Until we figure out why our people are developing these seemingly spontaneous symptoms, we can’t risk bringing in more people, just to increase the number of walking dead. You wild cards are our last, best hope of containing this infection.” She hesitated, then continued. “More than that, your blood—and that of other wild cards—coupled with modern technology, may hold the cure to a scourge that’s threatened mankind for centuries.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“So I’m some sort of guinea pig now?”

“Of course not, but—”

“But you
are
an American.”

What the hell?

A loud, brusque voice cut Simone off.

She and I both looked toward the door, now opened to reveal a lantern-jawed man in a military uniform, stripes, stars, and assorted medals dripping off the shoulders and above the left breast pocket.

Striding into the room, he came straight out of one of Syfy Channel’s ‘original’ movies. The ones where a cast of assorted sexy twenty-somethings get stuck on an island, forced to battle a giant snake, tarantula, or alligator created by science gone terribly wrong. Racing against the clock because some military dude wants to blow up the evidence.

Well, this was the military dude with the itchy trigger finger.

He stopped at the foot of my bed, legs planted firmly apart in what I’m sure he thought was a heroic stance. He had this total middle-aged Charlton Heston thing going on, all craggy features and stern expression.

I didn’t trust him.

Judging from her expression, he wasn’t on Simone’s list of favorite people, either.

“General Heald.” Her voice was flat.

“Professor Fraser.” He nodded briefly, as if conveying a favor.

Wow. Condescending much?
For a fleeting moment I wondered if he was related to Gabriel.

General Brasshole turned back to me, steel gray eyes glinting with patriotic fervor beneath thick, unruly eyebrows.