Blood Soaked and Contagious (5 page)

“No worries. We all know how you are when there’s a project on the bench.” I slugged him on the shoulder and sat down in the chair next to him.

There isn’t anyone I can punch affectionately like I can Shawn. He’s built like a Hell’s Angel crossed with a freight train. Rumor has it that two of his younger brothers made it into the NFL, after full-ride football scholarships in college. I don’t know if it’s true, but I could believe it if the rest of the family was built along the same lines.

I knew he had a kid sister. I found that idea both daunting as Hell and strangely erotic, all at the same time. No point pumping him for information, because he knows my piss-poor history with the opposite sex.

Jayashri brought the food to the table in quiet flutterings of her sari, sending the aroma of spices into the air around us. They were vegetarian, keeping with the particular Hindu traditions that they had grown up with, but did allow themselves cheese, cream, milk, and butter. I was immensely grateful that they weren’t as strict with their religion as some people that I’d known in the past, because her paneer was painfully good.

Don’t make me tell you about her cream sauces for pasta. If anything happens to Baj, she’s mine. I’ll fight you for her. I’ll win.

The initial dinner conversation was light, and by unspoken agreement we didn’t bring up our smelly new neighbors.

Shawn made conversational noises but was too busy savoring the cooking to really make a dent in the chatting. I knew his family was from rural Somewhere and that their idea of ethnic cuisine was pizza. Watching him eat and enjoy foods that had been alien to him just a year ago was amusing and oddly joyful.

It was so damned normal and we all loved it. That was a common thing we all felt: the absence of our normal lives. The three of us ate our food, and the conversation quietly faded in favor of sharing Shawn’s delight in something that was so common to the rest of us.

“Shawn, you should try the raita with the curried daal,” Jayashri said, spooning a bit of the yogurt sauce onto his plate.

“Thank you. I certainly will,” and he did. His expressions were priceless. For someone as strong, solid, and intimidating as he was, he had no guile at all around people he cared about.

We watched him close his eyes in bliss, gently rolling the flavors around in his mouth.

I heard Jayashri sigh and looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She was crying noiselessly and immediately noticed that I’d seen her. She sniffed, rose quickly in a bustle of draped fabric, and floated over to my side of the table.

She kissed Shawn on the forehead, mussed my hair, and whispered, “I am so happy.” A moment later, she was gone, but I heard the bathroom door close down the hall.

Baj looked a little misty himself. Shawn looked confused. Me? I don’t know how I looked.

“Guys, did I just miss somethin’?”

“Ah, you know,” Baj said, “women will be women sometimes.”

I just chuckled to myself.

The wistful look on Baj’s face slipped away and was replaced by something far more serious. I tensed up, immediately expecting bad news. Shawn’s breathing changed.

“I wanted to talk to both of you for a number of reasons. Serious ones. Please don’t feel as though I invited you both here under false pretenses, because Jaya and I very much wanted to see you,” he said, ducking his head slightly. “What we have is an unfortunate confluence of events and data.”

Shawn sighed, tore off a piece of naan, and began munching on it in a very thoughtful way.

“All right, Baj, what’s going on?” I believe I actually asked the question, but it could have been either of us. The tension in the room was enough to inspire near-telepathic communication; empathic, at the very least.

“As you both know, I’ve been working on establishing some kind of reliable internet connection for the past month. Two days ago, I managed to do it. The news out there is not good. The zombies are even using the web to advertise.”

Looking back, I’m still pleased that my mouth was both empty and dry at that moment. I would have probably ejected anything in my mouth after hearing such a thing.

“What are they doing? Telling people who are infected to come see them and get pumped full of anesthetic before they’re eaten alive?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.

“Yes, there is that. I also saw quite a lot of ‘We are the Master Race’ sorts of things. Disgusting, but not as disturbing as the news feeds.”

“I guess you’re going to tell us that things are worse than we imagined. Right?” Shawn asked.

“Oh yes. Africa is almost devoid of human life. South America is nearly as bad off, but there are pockets of civilization in Belize and Costa Rica. China is,” he just shook his head, “very bad off. They bombed and gassed major population centers to destroy the zombie population but keep the industrial infrastructure.”

“Good God Almighty. That is beyond insane.” I couldn’t find words, but Shawn’s were eloquent enough for both of us.

“What about things here in the US?”

“Based on what I saw, we may be somewhat better off in terms of existing industry and services, but the rate of infection is increasing. DARPA and the NIH have confirmed the virus is passed human to human. Luckily, it has yet to go airborne.”

“What is the,” I needed to ask, “viral vector between people?”

“They are confident it is passed through sexual contact and non-sexual fluid exposure. There is some possibility it may even be passed in sweat and saliva.”

“Any idea why the critters are eating the infected?” Shawn asked it quietly, but I heard his knuckles cracking as he squeezed his fists closed.

“Apparently, the virus starts to die within 24 to 48 hours outside of a living host. It provides the initial resurrection and subsequent maintenance of the zombie, actually repairing or replacing damaged tissues. However,” he paused, “it begins to die off quickly. They attack living people to obtain fresher viral material to keep their bodies going. It isn’t even a choice on the part of the zombie.”

“The virus compels them to do it,” I asked “or do they attack out of their own fear of dying a second time?”

“Everything seems to suggest that they are compelled by it, at least as far as pain is concerned. The viral die-off is complete and utter agony, coupled with fading cognitive and motor functions.”

Shawn cut to the chase, “That’s not the only bit of news. I mean, we sort of figured that the virus was keeping them alive. Sucks to know we can get it from touching other people and all. You’ve got something worse to tell us. Don’t you?”

Jayashri reappeared behind Baj and put her hands on his shoulders. I began to pray, silently, that he wasn’t going to tell us they were infected. Not only would we, in time, lose them to the enemy, but the chances of being infected by them scared the piss out of me.

“From my perspective, Shawn, I do have something worse to say. We had a visitor yesterday afternoon: the leader of the zombies that relocated to this area after Chain Bridge.”

My stomach curled into a knot. I didn’t really like the idea that a second intruder had made it inside our defenses. The dreadlocked dude was bad enough. I made a mental note to talk to Gina about more explosives in useful places.

“You see, my friends, I knew him when he was alive. His name was Warren Hightower, and he was the CEO of the company I worked for before things began to fall apart.” Baj looked very upset. His long face seemed more compact, as if the weight of his emotions added 20 pounds to his brow, causing it to sink and shadow his eyes. Maybe it was that weight and the combined gravity of whatever else he needed to say that kept him silent for a few minutes.

“I love you, man,” Shawn said, “but you have to finish the story. Why is Hightower a bad thing? We might be able to negotiate with a former businessman.”

Baj sighed, and from where I sat, it looked like he had to force himself to go on.

“Warren is a genius. He was also a major player in the US involvement in the Middle East for a number of years. After that, he was recruited to lead Section 41, an extraordinarily secret intersection of DARPA and the NSA. Shortly after leaving that position, he started his own company, the one I worked for as a lead programmer.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is starting to look bad for us,” Shawn said, cracking his knuckles in irritation.

Bajali snorted. “Our business was computer modeling of airborne, weaponized particulates. We also did similar things for predicting the impact of terrorist attacks with a variety of scenarios, weapons, and locations. One particular branch of the company, my group, was also tasked with design, manufacture, and programming of nanomachine systems,” he said before he paused, breathed deeply, and began again. “I strongly suspect that Hightower has access to everything we ever created. He inferred as much and offered to let us live if I would continue my work for him.”

I felt the color drain from my face. Shawn didn’t look much better. Things had taken a turn that we were absolutely unprepared to deal with.

Baj told us he saw the man walking down the street before he even got close enough to knock on the front door. Apparently Warren Hightower has a swagger that is hard to miss once you’ve seen it. Then again, any well-dressed stranger is worth noting if you happen to be looking out your window at just the right time.

After getting his breathing under control, he called down to Jayashri and quickly detailed his plan to properly greet the Devil that was about to knock on the front door. She agreed, started the water boiling for tea, and adjusted her sari. For himself, Baj combed his hair, splashed some water on his face, and composed himself a tiny bit more.

There was a knock on the door, and he heard his wife attend to greeting their guest.

“Mister Hightower. Bajali has been expecting you for some time. Do come in,” she said with a delightful lilt in her voice. “May I serve you tea?”

He heard them moving around the living room and how she gently suggested where their guest should sit. It was the chair with the clearest line of sight from the kitchen, and all Baj could think was that he had married an utterly irreplaceable woman.

“Mrs. Sharma, I would very much enjoy tea. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“My pleasure. Please, sit. This is a very comfortable chair for our guests who have a more Western sense of how a seat should be. Bajali will be with you shortly. I am sure you know how difficult it is to pull him away from a project.”

Hightower laughed gently. Bajali was well known for how deeply he could sink into any project that caught his attention, and he remembered the ribbing he had received from everyone.

“Yes, Bajali could ignore almost anything in favor of his work,” the guest said, “except for you. Now that I’ve met you, I can understand why.”

“You are too kind,” she replied, “I will bring you tea. Do you take sugar and cream?”

“Yes. Thank you again.”

Jayashri floated off into the kitchen, leaving Hightower alone in the living room, relaxing in an astoundingly comfortable easy chair. Bajali called down to his wife in the kitchen, speaking in Hindi. Then he walked downstairs and crossed into the room.

Hightower started to stand.

“No, Mister Hightower, there’s no need to be so formal. Be at ease.” Bajali sat in the chair opposite him, separated by a roughly hewn wood coffee table.

‘Bajali, I can’t tell you how nice it is to be greeted with something other than an armed response,” he smiled that winning smile, made unfortunate only by how far his gums had receded, “and that dovetails so neatly into what I came to talk to you about.”

Baj related the bill of goods Hightower attempted to sell him on. It sounded wonderful, if you were a zombie: a peaceful meeting of the minds where X percent of the population would be kept as cattle for the undead to feed upon, and the rest of mankind was left alone to pursue their lives. Better yet! Given time, the two societies might integrate again and build a new future for the entire planet!

I think we all rolled our eyes when we heard that. Shawn looked more like he wanted to hand back his dinner at a supersonic speed, but he managed to control the reflex with the sheer force of his willpower.

Our friend had more to share, and we swallowed our disgust long enough to listen.

“I must tell you, Baj, I was uncertain of the welcome I would receive were I to visit you. I am moved, deeply moved, by your hospitality and warmth.”

“Well, you know, Mister Hightower, greeting guests in a civilized manner has been practiced and refined for thousands of years in India.” Baj reported this segment of the conversation with an insane, obsequious smile on his face, and I can only imagine what it had looked like during the original chat.

His guest complimented him on his superb hospitality for a final time, and urged him to pass the regards along to Mister and Mrs. Sharma, Senior, if ever the opportunity presented itself.

Bajali laughed heartily and replied, “It isn’t that different in India, you know. I will tell them you spoke well of the results of their hard labor. I suspect they will be pleased.”

At this point in the visitation, Jayashri brought in the tea, poured them both a cup, inquired about lumps of sugar and milk before deftly stirring each cup, and retreated softly into the kitchen. She added, to us, that she found the nearest firearm as soon as the tea service was safely settled on the countertop.