Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Siren Songs (21 page)

The colonel began talking as Liam caught up. “We've been out
here for weeks. Testing. Examining. Hoping. These brave people gave
their lives so my team could try to make headway against this thing.
It pains me to say this, but there's no other way to do what we've
been doing. I just wish it didn't always end up with the subject
laying out here in this grave.”

They both stood there for a long time. Many of the bodies were
partially covered by dirt, or had a white powder covering them, but
the pit still stank. The bloody signature of the infection was
present on the bodies lying in front of them. They'd been infected.

Then it hit him. Weeks! They'd been researching the plague even
before the sirens went off. He filed it away...

“Even the animals won't touch them. We think it’s
because the sickness scares them off, but we can't be sure. Maybe we
should run some tests.” But he said it without heart.

The colonel got out another cigarette.

“These are all old people? Is this what you mean by
'experiment' on them? What in God's name are you doing with them?”

“Liam, you have no idea how lucky you are. Do you think I
give tours to every doe-eyed teen who comes through here? The answer
you're looking for is no, this isn't the outcome we hope for. I
brought you back here so you'd know the riddles we're trying to
solve. You weren't supposed to see this, but I respect your
inquisitiveness. We believe your grandma has qualities that will
advance our research a long way toward answering those riddles.”

“And then she ends up on the pile?”

The man took a long drag before answering. “I don't want
anyone to end up on this pile. Really, I don't. I won't tell you it
could never happen, but I will tell you your grandma is different. If
the medical team's theory is correct, she may in fact be practically
unique. That uniqueness is why I'm even talking to you. It's vital
she be protected and comforted until we can get her to a proper
medical facility. I want you to help me with that.”

“And then you are going to kill me when I've served my
purpose?”

The colonel looked at Liam with a hard gaze. “Son, are you
trying to get me to off you? You seem awful anxious to remind me I
should be out here killing you.”

That sent him reeling. Death was all he could think about since
this crisis started, but thoughts of death exploded after Victoria
was shot. Spending a day riding with a group no younger than eighty
also turned him inward and downward. He admitted he was scraping rock
bottom on the zest-for-life scale, but he didn't consciously want to
die. Far from it.

What answer did he expect? “I don't want to die. I don't
know why I keep asking about it. I guess I'm nervous about my
grandma. About my girlfriend being shot. About the death of our whole
world.”

“That's a fair answer. None of us are having a good day. Not
anymore.”

“It also doesn't help that I don't know what's going on. I
see the pen with the two types of zombies, and I understand there are
costs with the experiments you're running—even if I don't agree
with your methods. But none of this tells me anything important about
the disease, its origin, or how it can be stopped. I hear you about
needing Grandma, but I want to make a difference too. I want to help
save the world. I know that sounds corny coming from a
fifteen-year-old...”

“I wish I could tell you more. I trust you more than I
probably should. But I don't trust you enough to tell you anything
that might jeopardize our project here. We know someone started this
plague. Whether it was a single person, a small group, or a major
government—we don't know. I can't take even the most minute
chance you found your way here with the intention of helping them.
Even accidentally.”

The colonel let that sit for a few minutes. Liam couldn't take his
eyes off the pile of bodies in front of him. He imagined Victoria on
the pile. Jones on the pile. Phil on the pile. His mom and dad.

Snap out of it!

With great effort, he made himself look away. “Can we go
back now?”

“Yeah, this place isn't my favorite place to relax.”

They hadn't been on the return trail long when the sound of jets
went screaming over their heads, very low. With all the foliage on
the trees it was impossible to see them, but the colonel seemed to
know who they were and what they were doing. “Before I met with
you today, I was managing a crisis at another of our camps out in the
sticks of Missouri. Those planes are going to eradicate the problem.
Those Air Force boys and girls just love playing with their toys.”

“You mean they're going to destroy a camp just like this
one?”

“Containment failed.”

And there it is.

Liam knew containment always failed. Always. Every book he could
remember reading about zombies had some element that ended with “and
the zombies broke through.” He knew this camp was safe only as
long as it took for chance and the human condition to break things
apart so the zombies could exploit the weakness and overwhelm them
all. It was a well-worn theme in zombie literature. Exceptions were
exceptionally rare. Even space stations and off-world colonies
couldn't escape zombies. This pitiful little camp surrounded by a
flimsy fence would definitely fall. The only question was when.

“Don't think I don't know our fate. I think every camp is
going to end up with bunker busters raining down on them, but it
pains me every time I hear of another one falling to the infection.
If we had proper medical facilities we might have been able to solve
this thing in short order. Working in tents with unreliable
generators and with second rate Doctors has set us back as a species,
perhaps forever.”

“Why don't you use a hospital?”

“I guess you didn't happen upon one in your travels, eh?
Where do you think all those sick people went when they first came
down with this disease? Hospital is just another name for morgue
today.”

They were getting close to the main camp once again. As the tents
came back into view, the colonel made one last plea. “I feel
for you Liam. This is all depressing stuff. I hope you see what we're
all about here, and that you'll consider how badly we need your
grandma to help us. I can't change anything that happened up to this
point, but I promise to do what I can to provide the very best future
for her. For you. The cure is out there.”

A short pause.

“It has to be.”

Oh hell.

Liam was shocked he had no idea if there even
was
a cure.
Everything he told him up to that point was contingent upon the
belief there
was
a cure. All those people in the pit grave had
contributed everything they had to the cause of finding it. This guy
was saying all those deaths have so far yielded nothing. He was still
unsure of the
existence
of that cure. He just said a companion
camp was being erased from memory by the screaming death above. How
many camps were there? How many graves? How many dead grandmas and
grandpas? What if there was no cure?

No way Grandma is going to end up in a pit.

Privately, Liam was making plans to break her out of this place.
Sadly, even with the most lax security one could imagine, escape for
the both of them was a long shot, at best. Grandma couldn't run off
into the woods and scale the fence. Steal a vehicle? Enlist help from
inmates who actually want to be here? Roll her out the front gate
into the chaos of the world? Liam could only find headwinds against
his route to freedom.

He would have to bide his time.

Then an image popped in his head; a logical conclusion to this
whole affair. Fire and death.

Were the planes destined to bomb this camp already in the air?

Paradoxically he was shaken to the core to realize the thought
actually comforted him.

As the pair re-entered the complex of tents, a soldier ran up to
the colonel with a message.

“Sir, I uh—”

He looked at Liam, then back to his boss.

“Speak freely unless you're reporting a state secret.”

“Yessir. The MRAP has arrived and we have one of the
subjects in the research suite. He didn't look like he'd survive for
much longer.”

“I'll be right there.”

The soldier tore off and they resumed walking the short distance
to the tents.

“Liam, I'm going to do something that is completely outside
protocol and invite you to watch this procedure. I want you to
understand what both sides of the equation look like, not just that
pit back there.”

Would seeing the experiment happen in real time change his mind
about anything? Doubtful. But it would tell him more than if he was
warming a cot back in the tent with Grandma. Better to know as much
as possible.

“Is it going to be bloody?”

The colonel looked at Liam with a sideways glance, not in a
flattering way.

“This is the apocalypse, son, and you're afraid of blood?
Suck it up!”

In the end Liam knew he would follow, blood or no blood. He was
suddenly very committed to understanding what was going on in this
place and, as much as possible, learn how he could eventually get
Grandma out of there.

Step 1 was watching this procedure. Step 40 was walking her into
his own home.

The colonel took him to one of the largest tents. He expected a
throng of orderlies and doctors to be running about, spinning
centrifuges or whatever they did in zombie movies. Instead, the first
chamber contained a few folding chairs, as if it were a waiting area
of some sort. The second, main, chamber was slightly cooler and
marginally better lit, but was similarly sparse. A couple of people
looked like medical staff, and the patient was laying on a fancy
metal table underneath some lights in the middle of the room, but
there was very little else in the large space.

“Where are all your people? ER doctors. The researchers.”

“You expected a hospital? This is it, kid. Now be quiet or
I'll have to kill you.”

Even in his fragile mental condition, he recognized the joke. But
he resolved to hold his tongue.

He took a seat off to the side of the central equipment, next to
the colonel. There were a dozen other chairs in two neat rows of six,
but there were no other observers. He thought about asking where
Hayes might be, but he didn't want to accidentally get him invited.

The patient was lying down and secured with leather straps. There
was a doughnut-shaped apparatus near his head. It looked ultra-modern
in the tent, with wires and stuff running across the grassy floor and
under the canvas wall—presumably to computers, generators, or
whatever. Liam was unable to see who was on the table, though it
appeared to be an elderly gentleman. Only his restrained arms were
visible, as a large, heavy blanket covered the lower half of his
body.

The doctor, or at least the lead medical person as it was
difficult to deduce rank or responsibility from this lot, was
spending most of her time tinkering with the doughnut contraption. He
figured she had to be in charge because she was the only one who
looked to be doing anything important. The two other staff were
bringing things to and fro from a room at the back of the tent.

That left the colonel to tell him what was going to happen. “I'm
afraid it isn't very interesting. They are getting something sorted
with the CT scanner. When ready, the staff here injects infected
blood into the patient, and then we use our sensors to track the
physiological changes as well as brainwave activity. I don't think
I'm giving away any secrets telling you that. We've tried taking the
blood of newly infected, and from zombies we knew had been infected
for a long time. We've tried giving just a little, and an entire
transfusion. We've found none of that matters—the result is
always the same. Death. But for some reason, elderly people hold the
infection at bay much longer than the young.”

“OK, guys. Let's get this over with.”

The woman woke up the old man laying on the table. He was groggy
for a long while, as if he'd been in a deep slumber. “Where am
I? Who are you?” He looked confused, unsure where he was.

The staff tried to comfort the man, but to no avail. He strained
against the restraints.

The woman had a syringe she was keeping low and out of sight of
the volunteer, Liam didn't see it until the last moment before
injection. It went quick.

The man calmed down immediately, like he knew he was done for.

“Please find my Janey.”

2

Liam wanted to jump up and throw off the shackles holding Bart to
the table, but he remembered Bart was a volunteer. He suffered from
dementia, but never gave any indication he was refusing to help.
Maybe the dementia was worse than anyone realized.

Or maybe they didn't care.

Liam promised not to interfere; he was already on very thin ice.
Sadly, he knew once the syringe went in, Bart's fate was sealed.

Now standing, Liam could clearly see the man's face and the look
of fear there.

Eventually Bart seemed to relax.

Then he seemed to fall asleep.

Several minutes went by before the colonel spoke up. “It
seems to be the common disease process when injected like this. First
the patient falls quiet, and the transformation begins. It is very
much like when a person is bitten, but not quite as fast, or violent.
You are going to see it momentarily.”

But time went by and nothing happened.

Minutes. Then fifteen.

The staff became more antsy the longer the experiment went down
this unexpected path. The doctor was still standing near the CT
equipment, studying a small panel on its side. Other equipment with
heartbeat and vitals were pinging along, telling everyone the man was
not yet dead.