Blood Soaked and Contagious (34 page)

No one wanted to chance becoming infected. Not a huge surprise, because we’d all seen what happens, in personal detail, to people who caught the virus. If they were not ousted from their community, they were either sequestered in the hope that zombies wouldn’t detect them, or isolated so they couldn’t infect anyone else.

Sadly, isolating never quite worked. We found that out with Mister Yan.

Here, in this lovely grove of lovely people, we had a rather idyllic existence. No one wore masks or gloves, because we knew one another, and most of us appeared to be immune. It was a Hell of a luxury, let me tell you, but it also contributed to how twitchy we all were when it came to outsiders.

That was not a rational response, by any means, because the likelihood of an infected person living long enough to visit was vanishingly small. The local undead population has always been quite high, even before they started organizing. I suppose this is one of those evolutionary bio-psychological quirks about humans in tribes: outsiders equal danger to the troop.

We’ve had one raid, run by another community about 10 miles away, since I’ve been a part of this one. There were two adults and about eight teenagers who tried to snatch and grab anything that wasn’t bolted down. It was sad, poorly executed, and wholly unsuccessful. Shawn caned the two adults, Singapore-style, and lectured the teenagers with great enthusiasm.

I probably shocked all of them when I brought over popcorn, some of Jim and Darcy’s hard cider, and a lawn chair. The caning was spectacularly brutal, utterly controlled, and strangely evocative of happier days in Tuscany. Jayashri was kind enough to use surgical staples to repair their asses after Shawn was finished.

Jayashri didn’t stay for the lecturing, but I did. Ridley Scott could not have directed a better verbal lambasting of a scabby-assed group of young people than the one Shawn delivered at the top of his lungs that night. I will remember the expressions on their faces, lit by our bonfire, until I die.

I turned at the corner, about two houses down from Bajali’s, when my reverie got the better of me. The tree on the other side of the street had apparently decided to sprout ninja fruit when no one was paying attention. A throwing star suddenly appeared in my right shoulder and
that
garnered piles and piles of attention from me.

“OW! Fuck!” I didn’t waste any time to pull it out and dove across the bushes in the front of Jim and Darcy’s yard. I had half a second to realize that I didn’t have a gun on my person. All I had was a knife, and the flat piece of sharpened metal that was stuck in my arm. It was my mistake, being that unprepared.

Pulling it out was a carnal delight, let me tell you, but I supposed it was small fry compared to being gut shot earlier in the day. The shuriken had no blood on it at all, so I was fairly confident that my onboard repair service was up and running, but I didn’t get a bead on my attacker. That seemed a little strange.

“Francis.” The tree across the street talked to me. Damned ninja. I can’t abide ninja stealth shit.

“Yo, Mister Hide in Plain Sight.”

The tree chuckled a little, not giving away anything other than general position across the street.

“They told me it was you, but I didn’t believe them, so I thought I’d come and see for myself. Lo and behold, here you are!” Ninja trees are so fucking smug.

“That’s dandy, Mister Tree! I’m so happy you found me! Why the Hell am I interesting to you?”

“You wound me. You don’t even remember my voice?”

“Look, whoever you are, you’re talking through a lot of leaves about twenty feet away from me. You could be Donald Duck and I wouldn’t be able to tell.” I was slightly frustrated, but at least my arm had healed. The shuriken wasn’t too damaged, and I was entirely interested in giving it back to its owner.

“Excuses. You’re always good at excuses.”

No. Please, of all the people it could be. “Stu?”

“Been a while, huh?”

I squatted in the bushes, flabbergasted beyond the ability to speak, but fully capable of imagining bloody murder. I’ve always been one to recover my use of words quickly, especially when my heart is filled with feelings of indignation and anger, but not on that occasion…it took me a full four seconds to lever my tongue into action.

“You went over to them? Don’t tell me you went over to them.” It came out flat, instead of fueled by the roiling emotions causing my heart to batter my ribcage.

“Francis, it isn’t as though you get much choice when you’re one of the Resurrected. In all honesty, it doesn’t matter whether you are or you’re still farting around as a mere human, everyone looks for the best plan or the best leader to follow. In my case, I didn’t have to look very far.”

“The Resurrected? Is that your cute little way of justifying slaughtering innocent people, you insane little shit?” I was begging my nanotechnology buddies for data, any organ they wanted to take over, just for a clear shot at this guy.

“It isn’t cute. It’s just the truth. I died and I came back, just like so many others. Just like you will, once all the preparations are complete.” He had the gall to laugh before he added, “Of course, you won’t die quite so quickly when you’re a cow, and you’ll have to be a very good cow if we consent to bring you over.”

“You... motherfucking, bastard excuse for a soggy cock-sling. You make it sound like you’re doing people a favor! You’re going to herd them, collect them, milk them, and trade them with your friends!” Please, dear Lord of Nanotech, give me a sign! “These are human beings, you egotistical bag of barnacle turds!”

“Nobody said life is fair, Francis.”

PING! I got him. The critters gave me a heads-up on his location: twenty-four feet away, eight feet above ground level, and behind heavy foliage. No clear shots from my location. Fuck.

“Ah well. Time to go! I didn’t come here to debate morality with you, only to see you with my own eyes before we grind you into the dirt.” Again, that damned annoying laugh! “I’ll make sure that we take you alive, just so you can be my personal cow. I’ll enjoy that. Maybe I’ll even use you as my personal fucktoy between milkings! That would be dandy!”

The leaves moved, and he did one of the classic ninja things: ran away from me in a straight line behind the trunk of the tree. No clear shot, and too fast for me to catch him. My target of opportunity list had grown by one.

Don’t they say the best wars are fought brother against brother? It looked like I would get to find out the hard way. I should never have grabbed his first name for my assumed name; I’ll have to remember him even after I’ve killed him. Bother.

The rest of the walk to Flower’s place was done in something of a haze. My life had just become more complicated than I’d even wanted to think about, and I think part of my brain was trying to rebel and just shut down. I did what I could to keep that part of me under control by using it to track the throwing star I was spinning around in my hand.

Flower owned a lovely home that sported a two-car garage. It had one of those fiberglass doors on it, much like the big one in my ofuro room, and I could see shadows moving around in the light of the garage. At least I knew people were home, and my own good judgment told me I ought to announce myself to the group of people who were unpacking firearms.

Before I could open my mouth, I heard, “Hey, Frank. Come on in!” My neighbor sounded quite cheerful from behind the door, and I wondered how he knew it was me. Then again, if he’d snagged his own nanotech from someone at the meeting, it would stand to reason he’d be developing some of the benefits by now. I still found it a tad disturbing to be identified so quickly.

I went over to the side door that opened into the garage and used it, rather than the big door. No sense in revealing everything to the world. I found myself face to face with a large, black SUV of a model that I didn’t immediately recognize. The passenger doors were open, and I could see Buttons’ back from where he was bent over something on the ground, and there were a few more small Pelican cases sitting on the seats.

“You want to see something interesting?” I heard from the other side of the vehicle, and I made my way around the seriously reinforced front end of the black monster. Omura was crouched down in front of an open case, moving the foam off of the gray thing packed inside. The object looked like a matte gray square with a grid etched into the face. “This is one of the Active Area Denial units.”

“It looks very unimposing,” I commented.

“Doesn’t it, though? The original versions were mounted on the tops of military Humvees and measured about eight feet square. This little guy is a miracle of modern technology.” Whether or not I believed him, Omura sounded like he had all the faith in the world in the little thing. “We’ve got twelve of these units, each with their own power source and independent sensor package. That will give our little friends some fun times.”

“Sounds like it.” I turned to Buttons, who was kneeling in front of a laptop that had a satellite antenna plugged into one side, and asked, “Do we have any more data about the size of the force we’re going to be dealing with, or any way to get that sort of intel?”

He looked up at me, frowning, and gave me an affirmative nod. “That’s what I’ve been researching for the past hour. The recent visual data doesn’t look good.”

“By not looking good, you mean,” I waved my hands a bit, “what?”

“It looks like they’ve been doing a lot of recruiting since I looked in on them yesterday. Or, at the very least, their recruiting is finally proving to be successful.” He scratched his head, moved his other fingers around on the laptop track pad, and grunted.

“What sort of recruits are we talking about?”

“Yesterday’s satellite data feed gave me a headcount on the number of unique people moving in and out of that building of 314. That’s about on par for the data you got from your zombie earlier this week.” He stood up from kneeling down in front of his little electronic altar, shook his head, and turned to face me. “The count I just got was 803 unique bodies. I’ve got photos that show 20 military-style Humvees parked around the building and on the parking garage’s top level. Our lives have become much more complicated.”

There was something about seeing this presumptuous bastard actually looking worried about these turns of events. I felt less surprised about the sudden appearance of reinforcements than he seemed to be, and I can chalk that up to my basic cynical nature. Make no mistake, it changed the entire framework of the plans we had attempted to make about defending our homes. Other options would need to be pursued.

“Well, got a plan yet?” I asked him, probably a bit more sharply than absolutely necessary.

“Not entirely.”

“I can give you one set of thoughts right off the top of my head. Care to hear?” He nodded listlessly, but I didn’t let it stop me for long. “We need one of two things to happen in the very near future. The first, and my most preferably option, is for you to utilize some of your orbital toys to make their lives more interesting right
now
.” I was emphatic, but some people call my emphatic voice “yelling,” and it is really just a matter of degrees anyhow. “The second option is much more annoying for me. We do a guerrilla raid and take out as much as we possibly can, and then bug the fuck out of there.”

Buttons shook his head and was about to say something, when Channing (whom I had failed to notice at all) spoke up. “Using the orbital weapon systems is not that simple. None of them are in geosynchronous orbit over the DC area. And the ones that could be moved are pointed the other way.”

Channing’s mouth shut with a clack when he saw the look on Buttons’ face. It wasn’t just angry. It was murderous. Looks like Poindexter let something out of the bag that wasn’t to be opened in the first place.

When in doubt, poke the incision until something comes out.

“Buttons, what does he mean about weapons pointing the other way? At other countries, or something else?”

The Face of Doom turned back to me, and I was sure I was not about to get an answer other than a fist to the jaw. Then, he surprised me completely.

“Pointing the other way, Frank, means exactly what it sounds like. Those devices are not pointed at the Earth.” He deflated a little bit.

I thought I’d caught on to what he was saying, but it made no sense. “You mean, you’ve got guns pointed at the Final Frontier, not at enemy countries?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Whatever the fuck for?” I had to laugh because it was completely absurd. When I stopped laughing, I caught sight of how he was looking at me. It wasn’t anger. It was a sort of compassionate, sad look.

“I can’t tell you. You already know more than most people with clearances four levels above Top Secret, and I could kill you for that and only have paperwork to do afterward. You do not want to know, nor should you ever want to know, what I do.” He took a solid breath, popped his back, and let some of the tension ooze away. “Getting back to the matter at hand, I could get us another ballistic satellite, but it would take about 12 hours to move it into range. By then, we’d only be a few hours away from the original being in firing position. Not much good.”

“I have to beg to differ on that. You’re telling me the new one would be more mobile, right?”

“Absolutely, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to move it into position,” Buttons said, giving me a look that would have been appropriate for a high school math teacher when explaining that 2 + 2 equals 4 to the class.