Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel (14 page)

S
peaking of which, my mind was stuck in neutral.
With all the things I should have been thinking about I found myself ruminating
about why Ryan Boetche was here at all.

The kid told us he had left Door County, the
largest safest settlement in the Midwest, to drive over two hundred miles to a
house he knew was empty. His traveling partner, now deceased, was “regular
army?” Why was he here?

“Listen Ryan, we’ve danced around the question
long enough. Why are you here? Why was a soldier with you?”

“You guys wouldn’t understand.”

“Don’t give me that shit. We are living through a
zombie apocalypse. There’s a lot we’d understand.”

“You and Mrs. Handsman, you and my parents were
friends.”

“Yeah. We were. We are. They are good people.
Did you see them in Door County? They were heading for your cottage.”

“They didn’t make it to the cottage. I don’t
know where they are. They weren’t who you thought they were. We weren’t who
people thought we were.”

“What are you talking about? Your father is a
day trader and your mother is a stay-at-home mom who volunteers in the
community. What is there to know? What are trying to say? You are from Remulak?
You’re in the witness protection program? What?”

Ryan looked past me to Ruth Ann. I could see in
his eyes that what he was about to say was a door slamming shut on the “normal”
life of his past. He could be chased onto a rooftop by walking dead. He could
nonchalantly drill them in the skull. Telling us why he was here was harder because
we knew him and his family before all this.

He took a deep breath.

“Dad wasn’t a day trader, Doug. We grew dope. We
grew a lot of really good dope. We were dope dealers. Hell we weren’t just
dealers, we were
the
source of authentic organic craft grown Mendocino
Mind Fuck outside of Mendocino itself.”

Ryan’s face was red and his eyes were tearing.
It was clear he was profoundly embarrassed. This is a very upscale
neighborhood. Some people who lived here were overt elitist snobs. Everyone who
lived here was on the upper end of the local socioeconomic food chain. Ryan’s
family grew dope.

“Mrs. Handsman, you remember all the advice you
gave Mom about growing herbs? Well she grew herb. The entire basement of our
house,” he said pointing at his home, “is irrigation and lights and pumps and
valves and shrink wrap machines and the only computers Dad used were for
managing our grow.”

“Ryan, kid, look at me,” I said. “We know. We
have one of your plants in the greenhouse. Your dad gave it to us on the day
they left.”

Ryan was apparently stunned and relieved. It
seemed like an appropriate time for a group hug so I grabbed the kid and
motioned Ruth Ann to join us. It was a real Norman Rockwell moment if Norman
Rockwell painted families hugging while surrounded by undead looking for live
flesh to feed upon instead of warm fires and mistletoe.

The hug ended.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why are
you here now? Why did a soldier come with you? Are you in trouble?”

“Actually, no. They sent me.”

“Who sent you?”

“The military.”

“The military sent you?”

“Yeah. There are almost 300,000 people in Door
County without much to do and nowhere to go. It may be martial law but the
military knows a stressed-out group of people that large is dangerous. Dope is
free in Door County. They hand it out.”

“What? Why?” I wasn’t parsing this yet.

“How many armed revolutions can you think of
that were started by stoners? They’re more likely to giggle than storm a wall.”

“How many people smoke?” Ruth Ann said.

“Like every day? Around 30,000. More do it
occasionally. Mom had about 60 keys of sealed product in the house when they
left. That will last about two days in the County. But that’s not the main
reason they sent me.”

“Which is?”

“To see if the grow room is OK. If it is I have
to contact Lambeau Field for pick-up of our equipment, log books and our seed
stock.”

“Lambeau Field? What do you know about Lambeau
Field?” Ryan hadn’t heard my conversation and I hadn’t used the term in front
of him.

“That radio you got? I think it’s more for me
than you guys.”

I was fucking livid.

That drug kingpins lived right next door did not
bother me. That getting access to pot seeds to grow better dope was the actual
impetus for helping us really angered me off. I’m a smart guy. Ruth Ann and I are
good people. We lived in a goddamned fortress and the only reason to reach out
to us was for some fucking dope for a nation of stoners?

What about after they got their pot farm? What
of us? Are we back to fending for ourselves? A bunch of seeds and log books are
more important than us? Apparently so.

T
he radio was on preset two: emergency. Ryan was
not around. He had made his call for pickup right after our conversation then I
shooed him away.

“Frank, you remember I told you our neighbor’s
kid was with us, right.”

“Yes, Walter.”

“And you know perfectly well who he is, right?”

“Yes, Walter.”

“And you know what his family business is?”

“Yes, Walter.”

“And you sent him?”

“Not personally but the individual you are
referring to is on official business. So yes, Walter.”

“You know what Frank?”

“Yes, Walter?”

“Stop calling me fucking Walter! This is a
digital radio. I know it’s encrypted. You know it’s encrypted. Just stop with
the stupid call sign shit already. Come on out here, pick up your boy, pick up
your dope and leave us the fuck alone.”

I heard myself sounding like a Fox news watching
survivalist antigovernment tea bagger but I couldn’t stop. Spit flew as I
yelled into the mike and I’m sure the veins in my neck were popping out. Ruth
Ann grabbed the mike out of my hand and gave me the most tender “shut the fuck
up” eyes I’d seen from her in a long time.

“Frank,” she said, “this is Miss Goody Two
Shoes. Walter is going to have a time out until he can use his inside voice
again.”

“I understand. We will be out later today to
make the pick-up. We owe you an explanation and there’s a proposition we’d like
to make. We want you to understand that we really are doing the best we can
under awful circumstances.”

“Walter is upset about us being considered
secondary to a weed patch, Frank. We are both upset about that. More so, we
want to know where we fit in after you get what you came for. If you have a proposition
for us we’re listening.”

“Understood. Your local law enforcement was
tipped off a number of months ago by the electric utility that there was
something going on in your neighborhood. At the risk of upsetting Walter even
more, the sheriff’s office assumed it was you at first. UPS was constantly at
your house and your electric bill is high. Also, frankly, Walter isn’t from
around here and your house is a fort with no windows, perfect for a large grow
operation.”

“They quickly realized it wasn’t you when they
found your neighbor’s electric bills were even higher than yours.”

I was frothing at the mouth. Ruth Ann had to
swat my hands away from the mike “Go on Frank,” she said.

“The sheriff’s office was about to raid your
neighbor’s house when the situation we find ourselves in right now came up.
Since then priorities have changed. What they would have gone to prison for two
months ago is now a valuable tool in getting people through this. Safe havens
have been compromised because of insurrection among the people they were
supposed to protect. About ten percent of our population here frequently makes
use of the substance. That amounts to thousands of people we don’t have to worry
about making trouble.”

“What do you do when they get the munchies? Bite
each other?” I shouted, but Ruth Ann didn’t have the transmit button pressed.
Ruth Ann swatted me again but with her eyes this time.

“What about us Frank? You needed us to shelter
Ryan but we’ve done that now. What becomes of us?”

“We know what kind of work Walter did in
California. The sheriff’s office had already subpoenaed your online purchase
records, so we know what you have in your house. Walter, I hope you’re
listening. We believe you have in your basement the largest
defendable
data center in the Midwest Administrative Zone. We need it. Moreover, we need
your talents.”

Silently I laughed at the irony of being only a
few miles from one of the world’s premier makers of supercomputers that the
military had finished bombing the place just a few hours before.

Apparently, my basement represented a better
option because of its outsized capability paired with a small hardened defendable
shell. And they needed my talents? These people fucking used me and now I am
going to fucking use them.

I motioned for Ruth Ann to give me the mike
back. She made eyes to me asking if I was going to be a good boy or not. I
nodded yes, back to her. She handed me the mike.

“Frank, Walter here. Whatever it is you need me
to do you have to make it possible for us to do it here. That’s not
negotiable.”

“Walter, you and Miss Goody Two Shoes will be a
lot more comfortable here. Let us pack you up and bring you to Lambeau Field.”

“What part of non-negotiable don’t you
understand? We’re not going to risk living among three hundred thousand
potential happy meals. You guys are zombie bait. We’re staying right here. You
want me and my rigs, you make it happen.”

Then a thought occurred to me.

“It was you guys who lit up our Internet
connection wasn’t it?” I remembered the momentary connection on the Internet the
modem. I hadn’t told Ruth Ann about it yet. “You already have a plan to make it
work if we refuse to leave, don’t you?”

“We can just take your equipment Walter.”

“Then you don’t get me.”

“We can just take you too.”

“Then you still don’t me. I’ll write ten
thousand lines of nonsense code that won’t do shit – you figure out what’s
wrong with it.”

“We can make things difficult for you Walter. Think
of Miss Goody Two Shoes.”

“I’m thinking of her right now, asshole. You
said you know what I did in California. Then you know we do it my way or we
don’t do it. Christmas Tree out.”

I didn’t switch off the radio – I just let it
sit there. Ruth Ann was completely stunned.

“You pompous ass! Who do you think you are?” she
demanded.

“I think I’m their only choice for something
they need. Do you want to go to Lambeau Field? Do you want to be one of a herd
of prey animals waiting to be eaten? If I’m wrong this radio won’t make a peep.
If I’m right, we’ll hear Frank any minute now.”

We waited. Ruth Ann reached for the mike. I
shielded it from her. We waited.

“Walter, this is Frank. Are you listening?”

“Yes Frank.”

“We’ll do it your way. Our people will set you
up.”

“Thank you Frank. When your people get here have
them bring a contract signed by whoever is in charge there. One page. No more.
It has to say the government of the Administrative Zone will set us up, keep us
supplied and keep us safe, both of us. In return, we rent you our equipment and
provide consulting services. One page.”

“OK Walter. A pleasure doing business with you.”
Frank’s response dripped with sarcasm.

Ruth Ann asked “A contract? A contract? What do
you need a contract for?”

“You remember that Lieutenant Mancheski, we
signed a release to be left alone here. Remember the radio? It had an end user
agreement on it. These people are bureaucrats hon. Bureaucrats live on paper.
It’s what they understand.”

Ruth Ann folded her arms and cocked her head in
skepticism and said “And you think a contract will keep us safe?”

“This is just business.”

My belief in the continuance of government’s old
habits was borne out an hour later when the tactical radio began beeping. The
small display window said a document had arrived in its drop box folder (where
I still dumped pictures for transmission to Lambeau). I copied it over to my
laptop and opened it up. It was a PDF file. Inside was a non-disclosure
agreement.

I started laughing my head off and showed it to
Ruth Ann. She gave me a fake laugh in return and walked away.

D
uring a scheduled meeting, Frank outlined
briefly that the government had three initiatives they wanted help with.

Frank’s people had a small number of developers
among the refugees in Door County. There were some process control types from a
paper mill, some numerical computation programmers from insurance companies and
some general web types. None had executive or project leadership experience. I
would be nominally “in charge” because of my management experience.

This was second nature.

If Frank’s people,
my
people, were any
good things would be easy. If they weren’t I’d have Frank move their desks
outside
the protective perimeter of Lambeau field.

I would be facilitating one project and actually
implementing the tricky parts of another. The third I’d get to when the first
two were done.

Apart from military traffic I didn’t know or
care about, we were one of just a few dozen sites on the Internet. It was karma,
I suppose. Several of the predecessors of the Internet ran through Wisconsin.
In a way, this, like the hordes trampling Wisconsin, was full circle.

Getting Christmas Tree online meant some number
of facilities digitally 'between” here and Lambeau Field had to be
cleared of infection, powered up and defended. I am told there were casualties
but I don’t know the details. Later on, I asked Frank if people died because I
refused to leave my house. He told me not to blame myself, which I took to mean
“Yes.”

Then he looked me directly in the eyes (we
finally met when things settled down) and told me the work those people died
doing had to be done anyway. Lambeau Field had to have the high-speed
connectivity to be part of rebuilding command and control systems across the
administrative zones.

And, he said, the work I did saved a lot of
lives.