Blood Soaked and Contagious (7 page)

“You sure you’re being properly cynical about this, man?” The redneck caveman creased his forehead at me. The ridges it created were so severe that I could have grated cheese on his face, if I had been so inclined.

“I think he might have a point. I listened to the conversation while I was in the kitchen, and the man spoke like a zealot. He is completely convinced this is the best way to do things,” Jaya reported. “There was not enough tension in his tone of voice to make me feel as though he was anything less than optimistic about recruiting my husband.”

“Well, it appears that we have two choices. Jayashri and I flee for our lives and hope we’re never found again, or we kill him and see what the reprisal looks like. It is entirely possible that we would need to flee anyway, all of us.”

Shawn reached out, tore off a piece of naan, and started to munch on it. The crease between his eyes shifted as he chewed, and it was all I could do to wipe the awful things I could say off my tongue before my mouth opened. I didn’t want to make my hosts go into an apoplectic fit, or piss off my favorite human mountain. After all, he does have a sister.

Never piss off a guy who has a sister. At least, not when you’re lonely like I am.

“Shawn, will you share your thoughts with us?” Jaya asked in her musical voice. Baj echoed with little agreement noises.

“We’ve forgotten one big thing. Maybe two. First one is, they’re still watching us and I would bet money someone’s bugged the house or has got a parabolic thingamagig trained on your front window.” He pointed past my head at the big picture window to the left of their front door. “Second, he might be a zombie, but he ain’t stupid. He’s got a plan in case ya’ll do something.”

Baj and Jaya broke out into quiet tirades in Hindi that sounded like the way gangrene looks.

“I knew, I fahking knew I would forget something so fahking simple!”

“Dahling, we are already in cow shit up to our eyes. Do not be so harsh with yourself. If he wanted us dead, we would be dead already,” Jayashri managed to comfort and chide her husband at the same time. I was just amused at how thick their accents became when they got vexed.

“That ass fucker don’t want ya’ll dead,” Shawn joined in with foul language. “He needs you too goddamned bad to just drop a load of sheep cunts on ya’ll.”

The stress and intensity was getting to me, but Shawn’s unique way of phrasing things pushed me right over the top. I started laughing like a complete loon and was joined by everyone at the table. We were not the only people laughing. There was a fifth voice with a different tonal range, laughing very quietly. It was coming from somewhere around the floor.

They didn’t hear it, but I did. I let the laughter die down naturally, pulled my ever-present notebook and pen out of my pocket while everyone was catching their breath, and wrote, “There’s a fifth person laughing.” Everyone read it with wide eyes, but never changed their breathing.

I love working with people who know how to maintain an illusion.

“Boys, I do not know if any of this has left you in the mood for dessert, but I made Rasmalai and fresh ice cream.”

We didn’t have to fake the happy noises that came out of our mouths.

Baj borrowed my notebook and pen and, while he wrote, said, “My love, to turn down your Rasmalai would be doubly insane if this is the last chance we may have to enjoy it. Might I have some?” He wrote something entirely different.

“There are heat registers at floor level. Laughing person is not a pro. They’re somewhere near other heat registers or in the basement. Maybe roof?”

Jayashri replied naturally, “I have crushed pistachio. Would you like that on your dessert, darling?”

“Oh, heavens, yes!”

“Jaya, I’d love some of your ice cream. If it is as good as what you made last spring, I’ll be here all night!” Shawn wasn’t a bad actor either.

We ate our desserts and made small talk about the community. The notebook and pen slid around the table like a hot potato and none of us had thought to bring the sour cream and chives. We were in a bind; no one could get up from the table to do anything “unnatural” that might allow that person to scout around a little bit.

There were four of us. There was one someone observing us, at the very least. The fact that this stranger allowed him or herself to laugh while listening to us via the house’s ductwork pointed towards inexperience. Our major unanswered question concerned the spying itself. Was this person transmitting or reporting to someone, or were they simply there to make sure that Baj and Jaya didn’t leave?

We simply didn’t know and wouldn’t until something tipped the balance somewhere. It was Shawn who came up with the idea, and we were all pretty surprised with the simplicity of the solution. The whole thing hinged on the spy being an observer, not a reporter. Although Shawn did point out that if he’s transmitting data, then we’re all in worse trouble to begin with, and cornering this person would make little difference in the outcome of things.

The simple plan looked like this: Shawn and I would leave at about the same time, as though the evening had come to a pleasant end, having made no clear decisions on what the next meeting with Hightower would bring. Shawn would head to the backyard, and I’d wait somewhere out front. One way or another (unless this jackass could fly), he’d have to pass one of us if he was flushed out.

Jaya and Baj would have to do the bush beating to stimulate our little friend. With any luck, being made aware that his presence had been noted would be enough to make him bail.

We brought the conversation back around to Hightower.

“I don’t think I can turn him down,” Baj said, as he lowered his spoon to the table.

“That might mean the end of everything, man. I mean, I know it gives us time and a chance to fight back, but,” Shawn should have been an actor, “
human cattle
?” His delivery of the last two words was so perfectly outraged and left me hoping that someone would start a community theater. The man needed to play Hamlet.

Jayashri chimed in, “As much as I hate to say it, I think there might be less wholesale slaughter that way. I know Bajali is concerned for the karma of this decision, but even livestock must be cared for. The infected would not have perfect or wonderful lives, but at least they would be alive and make the best of their situation.”

I don’t know. Jayashri had that even tone that could convince anyone of anything. I was nearly swayed then.

“Look. You two need to do what you need to do. I don’t have to agree with it,” I said, sounding carefully cynical and petulant, “but if I get infected, I will take out as many of those fuckers as I can before they cart me away. I have to go,” and I did the best acting of my life, “but whatever you do, I’ll miss you both.”

Baj and Jaya made sad noises and rushed forward to embrace me. We were all doing a fabulous job of method acting and feeling the moment. When they released me, I walked out the front door, down the steps, and fucking sprinted to the hardware store.

When I got there, I snagged my .45 and the Man Scythe. I loaded up and sprinted back to the front porch of the vacant house next door to Baj and Jaya’s home.

About the time I got my breath back, I heard Shawn bellow something. I pulled the scythe but didn’t open the blade and walked down the porch steps.

Running feet. Two sets. One sounded a little bit heavier than the other.

I had a sensei once tell me you could get away with having perfect timing if your technique was a little off, but you could never have perfect technique with bad timing and expect success. In that moment, I wanted timing more than any technique I have ever learned.

Running. Running. Now.

I executed a strike with the body of the Man Scythe, moving forward and dropping to one knee as I swung. Time slowed down, but I felt more than I saw the handle hit the runner. I’d intended the impact to occur above the kneecap on his trailing leg. I got more than I planned for. Goodie!

There was a cracking noise and the sensation of something moving past me in the air. I pivoted to face that direction just as Shawn rounded the corner, and allowed myself the luxury of snapping the scythe blade into place with a flick of my wrist.

A man lay on the ground about six feet away from me, arms flailing in the air. His eyes were huge, and his mouth gaped open in silent agony. I looked down and saw why he was unable to do more than wave his arms around. His right leg was bent in the wrong direction at the knee.

Then I saw the length of his fingernails. They were claws. Zombie. I moved again.

I covered the distance, put my foot on his shattered kneecap, and knelt down on my other knee. The scythe blade stopped one quarter of an inch inside his left nostril. All I had to do to make his afterlife a living Hell was shift my weight forward or backward.

“Good evening, you eavesdropping, cow-fucking, sad-ass excuse for a zombie with a sense of humor!”

He gasped, clearly unable to form words. It really wasn’t a huge surprise, and I felt fairly thankful for it because I hate screaming. That is to say, I hate the sound of someone screaming in pain. Shawn’s sister screaming in the throes of mad, valkyrie orgiastic pleasure is something I could tolerate. It is difficult to keep the mind on one thing when you’ve slid open the mental drawer on something else.

Shawn was standing at 9 o’clock to my 6 o’clock alongside the snoop. Jayashri and Baj approached from my 4 o’clock and stood quietly behind me. The zombie saw them and became very still, hands stretched out to his sides, claws sinking into the twilight dirt. I wasn’t about to turn around to find out why.

I heard Baj clear his throat.

“Would you like to tell us why you were in my home, spying on us?” Baj’s voice was incredibly calm, controlled, and civilized. If he wasn’t already doing the genius thing, he would have made an incredible news anchorman.

Shawn added, “You’d better tell us if you were transmitting, or just planning to hightail it back with everything you heard.”

“Oh, those are excellent questions!” I chortled, wishing I could clap my hands in glee for the extra effect. “I think, yes I do, you should answer every single one of them or I’ll just cut the left side of your nose away. That would suck a lot!”

“I wasn’t transmitting anything. I didn’t have to,” our snoop gasped.

“Nose!” I squealed, bugging my eyes out. I can’t resist good over-the-top theatrics!

“Okay! Hightower already has surveillance equipment trained on your house. I was sent over to get context for the recordings. Personal observation. Would you please get off my knee? It’s not like I can go anywhere like this.”

“No.” I answered him using the flattest tone of voice that I could muster, a phenomenally cold, lead doors-sealing-your-doom sort of voice. After all, I didn’t want to get off his knee if it hurt. As a matter of fact, I probably would have enjoyed breaking the other one for a matched set.

“Gentlemen, if Hightower has been listening, he may not have any more information than we gave this one. On the other hand, if we are being watched, they are aware we have found the rat in our home.” Jayashri made complete sense in a coldly calculating, yet delightfully musical way. It made me feel strangely warm inside as well as sent a torrent of images through the back of my brain.

For a moment, I was horrified that I’d imagined her using that voice in intimate situations. I needed to keep my brain on the moment. Zombie, scythe in nose, threatening, interrogation, we’re all gonna die, until my brain showed me Shawn’s sister and Jayashri in SS uniforms with riding crops. If my day kept going like that, I would need to teabag myself in ice water at the earliest convenience.

Jaya came over beside me and crouched down.

“Uh. My greatly adored daughter of the Ganges... Is that a Heckler and Koch MP5 in your hands, or are you just much scarier than I ever imagined?” H&K compact machine guns make women infinitely sexier…as long as they’re not pointing the gun at me.

“Yes, my sweet hardware store proprietor and edged-weapons fetishist, it is an MP5.”

I gulped. “I don’t know why you used the word ‘fetishist’ in this instance.”

“Darling friend of my husband and me, you are rough, cynical, big-hearted, and very easy to read.”

“Shit,” I responded, with quiet, yet intense feeling. “Should we be discussing this now, when this undead son of a bitch can hear us, or should we continue to interrogate him?”

“Indeed. So, let us take a rain check on those topics.” She turned her eyes to him and stuffed the muzzle of the machine gun up his right nostril. “Tell me, little fucker, are we being seen as well as heard?”

“Eee,” he said. The scythe nicked his nostril when he opened his mouth. It probably had something to do with the gun barrel shifting the blade over as the gun entered his other nostril. “I don’t know for sure, but he’s not stupid.”

“Oh.” Jaya sighed. “That means it does not matter in the least if we end your pitiful existence now or later,” she flipped off the safety on the gun, “unless you have many interesting things to tell us about his troop strength, strategy, and deployment. Do you?”

All listening to that exchange did for me was show me how desperately I needed to get laid. I’m sure the spy’s experience of her gently ominous threat was entirely different than mine. I resolved, for the hundredth time, to sit down and have a deep conversation with myself about the funky things that got my motor running. I just needed peace, quiet, and time to do that in.