Blood Soaked and Invaded - 02 (36 page)

“Y’all are havin’ too much fun with this.”

“We know,” we chorused.

“I’m too flummoxed to retort.” He looked it.

He never got the chance. Charlie reminded us of the big meeting, so we finished breaking our fast, cleared the table, and made our way to B1.

We didn’t leave the meeting for over six hours.

Jayashri is a compelling speaker, but my ass told the tale of sitting and listening to far more about zombie and Progeny anatomy than I ever wanted to know. On one level she reiterated what we’d learned from the alien who inhabited Chunhua, but from a slightly different perspective.

Zombies are sterile–it was common knowledge. They’re an evolutionary dead end, or so we thought. Jayashri and the medical staff’s examinations backed up what we’d heard from “Biggie, the friendly hottie imposter.”

Our old enemies are not the finished product. The new and improved ones aren’t either. They’re merely steps on the journey to something else entirely: the Progeny.

The virus emerges from the burnt-out state that our typical zombies suffer with. It revives, possibly returning to a contagious state, and starts to alter their DNA and how genetic characteristics express across the board.

At some point during these changes the zombie undergoes some biological redevelopment. Their bones thicken, and the new cells start to line up in perpendicular layers, making them more resistant to breaks. Muscles become extra dense.

Based on our experience in the field, we learned they heal like we do: by consuming their comrades. Great, shiny even. Decapitation is still a valid method for returning them to the grave they crawled out of, but you’d better do it sooner rather than later.

I felt grateful for my new sidearm. Exploding zombie heads for the win!

One of the freakier things Jaya showed us was an MRI of the decapitated zombie’s brain in comparison to a normal human brain. The frontal lobe was visibly smaller. Not only were they getting harder to kill, they were losing cognitive function.

Dr. Lucas gave the coup de grace: their fertility is restored along with the rest of the changes. Our self-beheading buddy had live wrigglers in his balls.

Another little tidbit of information from Alien Biggie confirmed and then was proven by the DNA analysis of the little pilot’s body. She had two human zombie parents. The DNA mapping showed material from distinct virus-infected human beings.

“To truly understand the anatomy and nature of the new threat will require more study,” Jayashri said towards the end of the meeting. “We suspect the Progeny have genetic memory, and accelerated maturation of some kind. While we do not know how long it takes for a Stage One Zombie to become Stage Two with resumed fertility, we do know that the epidemic began just over two years ago. Therefore ‘Sumira’ is less than two years old. In an incredibly short time, Sumira, and those like her, have built high-technology vehicles and weapons.”

Bajali stood up at that point and told us more about the craft and what he’d learned by examining it. He looked tired and excited at the same time. I was slightly worried that his excitement meant he would be making more “improvements” to our nanotechnology in the near future.

Life could be interesting when your neighbor was a mad scientist with more creativity than good sense.

He did bring up a data point that almost made me cheer. The carbide slugs from our weapons shatter the hull material at 100 yards. Knowing we had an effective offensive weapon made me feel a wee bit more secure.

The meeting ended and everyone stood up and stretched. I didn’t need my onboard sensor cluster to know that everyone in the room was experiencing tons of mixed emotions. I only had to look at their faces.

“I don’t know about you, honey, but I need some dinner.” Charlie cracked her back and shook herself out a little bit.

I nodded at her and offered my elbow. She threaded her arm through mine, and we left the building. No one remarked on it. They were lost in their own thoughts, and we were too.

Without discussion, our feet carried us over to the store and up the stairs instead of around the corner to B2. Our food choices were limited, but the company was superb.

We grazed on various shelf-stable things I had lurking around and drank water. After dinner, we sort of lounged around my desk, munching on dried fruit.

“Can I ask something, O Father of My Child?”

“Absolutely,” I smiled, imagining an adorable blonde toddler running around the room.

I swiftly altered the fantasy. Any child running around the room would be in mortal danger from the guns, blades, rocket launcher, sharp corners on metal shelves, and random crap collected in the corners.

“Before you ask the question, Maternal Spirit of Absolute Love, we’re going to need to move before the baby shows up. The store is way too dangerous for a child.”

“Woot! I was only going to ask you to scrounge up a second chair so I don’t have to sit on the desk or the floor when we talk.”

“I hope, dear lady, I am always able to exceed your expectations!” I sat up a little straighter and tugged my shirt down in imitation of the inimitable Picard Maneuver.

I made her laugh, and I loved it. I didn’t know that would be the last laugh I’d hear from her for a while. Had I known I would have treasured it even more.

“Oh! It’s getting close to 7:30,” she said. “I want to rearrange the meeting room a little before Buttons comes over for his appointment. I also want to take a little time and get myself centered; it will be an interesting appointment.”

“Yeah, I can’t even imagine what he wants to talk about. I know you can’t tell me, what with therapist-patient confidentiality, but I will be speculating on it.”

She kissed me on the forehead, pleased that I understood her professional restrictions.

“Why don’t you head over to B2 and see if anyone is hanging out? I’ll give you a buzz when we’re done.”

I nodded and agreed.

We embraced and kissed in a way that promised interesting things after her appointment. I turned away and walked down the stairs, grinning like an idiot.

B2 was bustling with activity. Jim and Darcy were sharing their recent experiment in home-fermented beverages, much to the delight of Nate and his friends. It was good to see Fitzgerald, Ramos, Kim and Jackson hanging out with everyone else.

They tended to keep to themselves, and I wondered how hard White’s death had hit them, but between one thing and another I’d never actually asked. Then again, I really didn’t see much of them when we weren’t under attack from one corner or another.

I sat down with them, and Ramos passed me a glass of Smith Special.

“Have you ever had anything like this, man?”

I sniffed the glass, filling my nose with the smell of autumn, alcohol and apples.

“Oh yes, Ramos. I have, indeed.” I looked over at Jim, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You figured out a version of English farmhouse apple brandy, didn’t you?”

“I told you I would,” he answered me in that freaky, melodious, radio announcer voice of his, “eventually. We’re going to do a spiced version for Christmas and serve it warm.”

“Oh yes,” Darcy chimed in, “it has to be served warm. Yolanda, Kathleen and I have already started to plan a holiday party! I love having a huge kitchen to work in, and real supplies, too.”

“Um, Darcy,” Kim interrupted, “aren’t Barry and Kathleen Klein Jewish?”

“Yes. They haven’t been able to keep kosher for quite a while, so they do the best they can.”

“I meant the Christmas thing, actually.”

“The way we handle it is non-denominational,” Nate explained. “They bring the Menorah and matzoh, and we do our best not to mix meat and dairy. Last year’s party was a hoot. Remember, Frank?”

“Oh yeah.” How could I forget? It was full of good, homemade food, adult beverages, singing, and a whole bunch of people I love. “You never told me Barbara has a voice like that. It surprised the hell out of everyone.”

“That’s my honey and her four-octave range!”

Ramos whistled.

“The only thing I want for Christmas is to get some single female recruits in the next batch. I’m a lonely, lonely man.”

“I am going to keep my mouth shut in polite, mixed company,” Boyle said, nodding at Darcy. “Just know that I have a scathing comment for you when we get back to the house.”

“Boyle, she’s married. You can put the suave attitude away,” Ramos said, ostentatiously flexing his muscles. “Besides, suave only gets you so far. Girls like muscles.”

The table dissolved into laughter. Even Darcy laughed, and she’s the local prude. I guess, having Jim as her husband, she might have arrived pre-brandied and relaxed. Some things I didn’t inquire too closely about.

I decided to try the apple brandy for myself. The aroma was enough to make me crave pumpkin pie and piles of orange leaves to jump on. Just like every other Smith creation, it was an insane success. It actually tasted BETTER than it smelled.

“God, Jim... this stuff is amazing,” I whispered, smacking my lips like a hairless orangutan. “We need to start keeping bees. You could do amazing things with mead.”

“Funny you should mention that!” Jim paused between sips of apple brandy. “I’ve always wanted to try making Tej. That’s Ethiopian honey wine. Amazing.” Sip. “Amazing stuff!”

The conversation went on like that until Omura arrived. We waved him over and foisted a glass of the amazing beverage on him. Being a convivial soul, he took a huge drink. The rest of us winced.

“This,” he said, coughing slightly, “is like easy-to-drink fire.”

I patted him on the back. Apparently, he’d never encountered apple brandy before.

“The only thing from the British Isles that will blind-side you faster is Potcheen,” I explained. “That is more like moonshine with an herbal kick.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He took a smaller sip of the brandy, exhaled slowly, and smiled. “This is much, much better when you sip it.”

“So, what’s new with you?”

“I thought I’d track you down and invite you over for tea,” he said to me.

“Sounds like a grand, quiet night at the Omura-Buttons residence.” I’d been drinking the brandy steadily since I’d taken my first sip, and the little alcohol molecules had begun to dance in my bloodstream. “I think I’d like to take you up on that. If I stick around here I’ll keep drinking this, and discover I can no longer stand upright.”

The assembled product testing team booed and made awful comments about my lack of fortitude and gonads. Darcy kicked my shin! Unheard of!

Omura shook his head at my plight, put the glass down and bid everyone good night. I followed him out of B2 and we crossed the empty street to the house he’d appropriated a little over a month before.

The clock in my head told me it was 8:44pm.

Before he opened the door to the house, we heard alarms and weapons fire.

“That is the alarm on the nanotech starter container!” Bajali’s voice appeared in my head freezing me to the spot. It was pretty clear Omura heard it, too. “Jeff’s team, Bravo Euro, is raiding the lab!”

We turned, pulled our sidearms, and started to circle around his house, which backs up on Building One. Forty seconds later, the stealth helicopter lifted off from the helipad on the roof of that building.

I don’t know why Omura tackled me, but I do know that at 8:45pm, everything went to hell.

I’ve been blown up before, or at least tagged by the last bits of a hand grenade explosion. This was on an entirely different level.

The blast knocked me off my feet and threw me, on fire, for what felt like a burning eternity. I landed underneath Omura with my left arm under me–my right arm stretched out–and the left side of my face pressed against the ground. I registered his weight on top of me before something really large landed on us.

When I came to the pain was so overwhelming I couldn’t do anything but scream. I know I was loud, but my voice sounded dull and far away. I could feel Omura’s body on my back, but it registered somewhere in the back of my head, just like I noticed I couldn’t see out of my right eye or hear out of my right ear. The front of my mind was completely occupied by agony–the searing, raw nerve pain of third-degree burns or worse.

They say that if you’re in pain, you know you’re alive. I want a time machine so I can meet whoever it was that started that mindset. I’ll shake his hand and promptly kick him in the nuts. I’m not like other people. Pain HURTS me.

There is a certain eternal quality about blinding pain. It goes on and on until it stops.

I don’t know who found me, but I became aware of them when something huge was lifted away, and Omura’s weight shifted. They say that you can feel every little movement of your body in your back, and I can tell you how true it is. The change in pressure on my body made every scorched nerve sing a chorus at High C over E. My lungs couldn’t match the notes, so I wailed the chorus.

During the eternity of screaming my throat raw, hands slid under my prone body. They put me on a board and started moving very, very fast. On a different occasion I probably would have been more grateful. I kept screaming my head off–searing torment knows no gratitude.