The Down Home Zombie Blues (36 page)

Two laughing children glided by on their wheeled shoes—Rollerblades. They spied Mrs. Goldstein arranging flowers in pots on her front porch and they waved. She waved back, calling out something that Jorie couldn’t hear.

The children answered and continued on. A small blue land vehicle came into view from the opposite direction, moving slowly, aware of the children, no doubt. It went out of sight.

Mrs. Goldstein’s front door slammed and her porch was empty.

But they were there, they were all there. In every street surrounding Theo’s residence, the same scene was being enacted in a variety of ways. Bahia Vista. Florida. Earth. People living their lives. None of them knowing what lurked only a breath away.

Yet all depended on Jorie to stop it.

She stepped away from the window and resumed her place, cross-legged, in front of the MOD-tech. She concentrated on Rordan’s work and tried very hard to keep all her worries at bay.

Theo telephoned three more times before Jorie was surprised by a rumbling sound outside the residence. Trotting quickly into the main room, her flip-flops slapping against her feet, she caught a glimpse of him in his large land vehicle moving past the window, heading around to the back.

Unexpectedly, her heart fluttered, and she felt silly and stupid and girlish but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He was back early. Or else—knowing Theo as she was coming to know him—he’d always intended to return at this time but didn’t want Rordan to know that.

And Rordan wouldn’t know. Exhaustion after his four-day trek—or perhaps just from staring at the configurations on the screens since his return—had caught up with him. He was lying on the small couch in Theo’s spare room, one arm slung over his eyes.

Still, taking no chances, Jorie had managed to adjust the security fields just enough that if Rordan left the room, she’d know. It wouldn’t stop him, but he couldn’t sneak up on her or out of the residence.

She waited for Theo in the kitchen, then stepped into the circle of his embrace as he held one arm out to her.

“Everything okay, babe?”

It was now. She nodded against his chest, then raised her face. “Program is complete. And it’s a good one, I think. What did you find?”

“Something that will probably mean more to you than to me. Where’s our friend Rordan?”

“Sleeping.”

“Do we still need to keep him under guard?” He drew her away from his chest and nudged her toward the table, tossing a large tan envelope on its top. She pulled out a chair and sat, as he did.

“Only time will truly answer that question. I managed to set a motion-sensor field around the spare room, but my basic instinct is he told the truth. The emergency PMaT dumped him somewhere out of danger, either by accident or design. There have been any number of chances for him to contact the Tresh or for the Tresh to make a move on this residence after you left. Neither happened.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” she agreed. “You’re back early.”

He grinned. “I’m back right on time.”

Ah! She’d been correct in her estimation of him. “And this?” She tapped the envelope.

He opened it and pushed a stack of papers her way. “All reports David and I could find that fit the zombie-attack profile. You need to go through them. Ask me anything you don’t understand.”

She thumbed quickly through the pages, nodding.

“You might want to turn off the field around Rordan,” he told her. “We need to eat. I’ll see what I can scare up for dinner for the three of us.”

She frowned at him. “You need to frighten food?”

He stood and, reaching over, ruffled her hair. “More funny English.”

“I prefer my food complacent, not frightened.”

“How about complacent pizza?”

“Pizza?”

“You’ll love it.” He headed for the kitchen’s cold-storage unit, then pulled out a can of his favorite beverage. She neutralized the sensor field around the spare room, turned back to the papers he’d brought, and began reading.

She was aware he left the kitchen after that, aware he was talking on his cell phone again. Aware even of Rordan’s voice in the background, though only briefly.

The papers he brought her had her full attention. When he returned, she asked for explanations of some terms and odd acronyms. That solved, she went back to the papers again, her heart sinking with each page she turned.

A chime sounded, startling her. She grabbed her scanner, but it wasn’t that. Theo was at his front door, talking to someone. The door closed with a thump. Then Theo came in with two large flat boxes that emitted a wonderful aroma, and for a moment her stomach overruled her troubled mind.

“Go tell Rordan dinner’s ready,” he said.

She stood but held up a handful of the papers. “This isn’t good news.”

“Eat first,” he told her. “Bad news always goes better on a full stomach.”

Yes, it did. Especially as it might be the last meal they’d have.

25

Pizza was wonderful—not as blissful as peanut butter, but definitely an experience Jorie would like to repeat.

The news Theo brought was much less so. Yet it was exactly what she needed, what her tech—without its interface with her ship—could no longer provide.

The northern area that Theo referred to as Pasco County wasn’t the only site of expanded zombie activity. The zombies had struck south, in a region he called Manatee County. The expansion was worrisome but, as even Rordan agreed, predictable given the size of the herd.

“Big mission,” Rordan noted in his halting Vekran as he perused the data. Theo’s papers had replaced the pizza boxes and the delicious spicy food they’d contained. Jorie had arranged the papers chronologically. Theo was now aligning them to a crudely drawn map of the area.

Big mission, indeed. Not only what they had to do, but what the Tresh were evidently planning: a rapid zombie-breeding program that could provide them with the means to take control over a large number of the spacelane Hatches in a short period of time. What it had taken the Interplanetary Concord decades to put in place, the Tresh could accomplish in mere months.

“The key area,” Jorie said, pointing to a small peninsula on the map, “is here.”

Rordan agreed, nodding, confirming the location on his scanner.

“Fort Hernando Park,” Theo said.

The name meant nothing to Jorie, but she vaguely remembered hearing it before and said so.

“Two bodies were found there a few days ago. Those were the pictures Martinez brought here.”

She remembered fearing when she first saw them that one might have been Kip Rordan. She remembered also that Fort Hernando was a remote beach area, a T-shaped finger of land with very few residences and not accessible at night.

“That’s the Skyway Bridge,” Theo was saying, dragging his finger across a long line. “Fort Hernando is just west of that, jutting out into Tampa Bay. It’s a county park and recreation area.”

It was also—judging from the reports of attacks and
unknown disturbances
in the area, integrated with what Jorie could pull from her scanner—a hotbed of zombies.

“When do we do this?” Theo asked.

“We have to incorporate the virus program into the Hazer’s datastream,” Jorie said. “That will take several sweeps—”

“Tomorrow, most early time,” Rordan put in, and Jorie knew he was correct. Recalibrating the rifle was delicate work under the best of conditions and not something to be rushed. They didn’t have the best of conditions—only some basic tech components on the floor of Theo’s bedroom.

“Probably tomorrow,” she agreed. “Which is still workable. We have a few days yet.”

But what they didn’t have was a sim. On missions like this, they’d always practice first in a sim on board. Work out all possible angles of attack.

That meant going into a mission blind with two operatives—Martinez and Gray—who’d never faced a zombie before and one—Theo—who had but had limited experience. The juvenile feeding frenzy Theo had encountered was mild compared to what a C-Prime could do. In spite of the training Jorie had put him through, things could go horribly wrong.

At the very least, they needed to draw up plans and contingency plans, she told Theo.

He understood. “That means we need a day where you, me, Rordan, Zeke, and David can all sit down and go over everything.”

It wouldn’t be a sim. She had serious doubts if it would even be enough. But it would have to do.

Bedtime, when it eventually happened, was as awkward as the night before. Jorie worked on the Hazer with Rordan until her eyes blurred, then—because she still wouldn’t chance Rordan working alone—ordered him to rest on the mattress Theo had taken from the foldout in the spare room. The mattress, along with a pillow and blanket, was shoved against the bedroom wall near the bathroom.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the other room,” Rordan said.

“I can’t shield the entire house.”

“You and Petrakos don’t want your privacy?” Rordan’s voice held a petulant tone.

“I have one thread of patience left,” Jorie snapped, “and you’re fraying it. Sleep here or sleep standing in the shower, for all I care. But you’re not leaving this room.”

She kicked off her sandals and—still wearing the soft shorts and sweatshirt—climbed onto the larger bed, plumping a pillow to put under her head. Rordan eventually sat on his mattress, then, a few minutes later, laid back, his arm thrown over his eyes.

Jorie tucked her scanner and G-1 against her side and dozed lightly until Theo came in. The bed jostled as he crawled over next to her, his presence a welcome warmth in spite of the fact that Rordan was in the room. She watched through lowered lashes as Theo tapped on her scanner and sealed the bedroom, just as she’d taught him.

If Rordan tried to leave the room, he’d be zapped, as Theo was so fond of saying. If he tried for her scanner, he’d have to pull it from between Theo and herself.

Rordan tried neither, because when she woke, sunlight filtering through the windows, he was still on the floor—snoring lightly—and her scanner and G-1 were undisturbed.

Theo’s hand brushed hers, sending flutters around her heart. She turned her face, lifting her chin so their lips met briefly.

“Coffee,
agapi mou
?” he asked.

“Blissful idea.” She grabbed a pair of pants Theo called jeans and a short-sleeved green T-shirt on her way to the shower.

Things became less blissful as the morning progressed. The Hazer—evidently in as grouchy a mood as Rordan—refused to accept the virus-dart programming, in spite of all the tricks and tweaks Jorie and Rordan tried.

Frustrated and swearing in Alarsh, Rordan went to the kitchen for a glass of ice water. It was almost time for midmeal. Perhaps that would help. Jorie wandered into the spare room, where Theo—in jeans the same light blue as her own—had set up his own small computer. It was very rudimentary tech, but it accessed his world’s databases—something Jorie’s could not. She plopped down next to him on the small flowered couch.

“Are you sure it’s not his programming that’s screwing up?” Theo asked quietly.

“I’m double-checking everything he does,” she told him. Which was also slowing down the process. It was hard to solve problems and watch for problems at the same time.

“But you can’t rule it out.”

“No,” she admitted, a weariness enfolding her. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back against the couch. She was trying to do too much in too short a time, with too little resources.

Give up,
a small voice prodded.
There’s no shame in acknowledging your limitations. They’re not even your limitations. If Pietr hadn’t played games, if Lorik had listened, you wouldn’t even be in this situation.

It’s no longer a Guardian problem. There aren’t enough Guardians here to make a difference. Eventually, the security forces on this planet will recognize the zombies’ existence and be forced to handle it their own way.

But there would be so many deaths before they did.

There already have been more deaths. You couldn’t stop those. You didn’t even know about them. Your tech is ineffectual now. The ship is gone, It’s no longer a Guardian problem.

You can protect Theo. You can protect his family. You can protect your team. That’s all you should be expected to do in this situation.

True. It was all true. Why couldn’t she accept that?

Because you have to solve everything. You’re the big important zombie tracker. Pietr even said it: there’s not a zombie around that’s a match for the intrepid Commander Jorie Mikkalah.

Lorik even said it: you’re not a woman, you’re a zombie-killing machine. It’s all you care about. It’s more important than anything else. Your kill record. A captaincy.

Ice Princess. Living in a castle of ice-cold corpses…

“Jorie? Jorie!”

Theo’s voice in her ear, Theo’s arms around her, holding her against him, against his warmth.

Jorie opened her eyes, shivering uncontrollably.

“Jorie?”

She stared into his dark eyes and tried to speak, but her mouth only made little gasping sounds. Where was she? What was happening?

“It’s okay, babe. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Theo?” she finally managed to croak. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, but her arms wouldn’t obey. She clutched her spasming hands against her stomach.

“What—Jorie?” Rordan sat quickly on the other side of her. His fingers curled around her arm. “What’s the matter?”

Alarsh. She recognized the language Rordan spoke. Alarsh. The language of her people, her ship. The ship where the intrepid Commander Jorie Mikkalah tallied her kills with notches in the wall of her ice castle. The ship where her bed was cold and vacant because Lorik had left to find a woman who was warm.

Not the Ice Princess. Killer of zombies.

She closed her eyes. A low, desperate moan filled her throat.

“I’m losing her.”

Theo’s voice. He’d leave too. No Ice Princess belonged with a man with a very good face. A nice family. He should be spoused. Loved. Surely all the females on his world weren’t blind and unsexed. He would find love. But not with the Ice Princess.

“She…Lorik tells me of this. She dreams, cries. Cannot wake.”

Vekran. Someone speaking very bad Vekran—ah. Kip Rordan, friend of Lorik’s. Kip Rordan, beautiful man who knew she was cold, unloving. Lorik tells him this….

Ice Princess.

“She’s come out of it before. Jorie. Babe.”

Large hands, warm, against her face. She leaned into the warmth, but the keening cry started again. A thin wail. Pain. So much pain. And so cold. Shivering, shivering.

“C’mon, babe, c’mon.” Hands moved rapidly up and down her arms. Another set massaged her shoulders, her back, through her thin T-shirt. “You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

More warmth. She was being pulled against someone, away from the hands at her back. Arms circled her, held her, rocked her. A low rumbling in her ear. A man’s voice, singing softly.

She knew the voice. She knew the melody. Not Alarsh. Not the ship. Nothing cold, but warmth. A deep voice that sang to her before. Such bliss…

“Theo?” her voice cracked, her throat dry. But her face and Theo’s neck were wet.

“It’s me, babe. Easy. Take a deep breath.”

She did as she was told, aching. But the shivering had stopped.

She was in Theo’s lap, her face buried against his neck, her hands fisted into his chest. She could feel the tight bands of his arms around her legs and back. She took another deep breath. He was still rocking her, humming softly.

She tried to raise her face. He nudged her head back down. “Relax,
agapi mou.
It’s over. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Theo.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself more tightly against him, and fell into his warmth with a quiet sigh.

“She just needs to rest,” Theo said, shifting Jorie slightly so his arms held her more securely. Rordan had reached for her two, three times during her nightmare or seizure or whatever it was. There was no way he was going to let the bastard touch her. He didn’t discount that Rordan might have caused what happened.

He stood, intending to take her to the bedroom.

“I will—”

“No.” He put the same force behind that single word as he had when he was on the streets in uniform. Rordan said nothing more. Theo angled around him, Jorie held tightly against his chest, and headed for the bedroom.

She murmured softly, her eyes fluttering open when he laid her on the bed. “Theo?”

“Naptime,
agapi mou.
Short nap.”

“Mmm, yes.” Her mouth curved in a small smile.

He kissed it lightly. “I’ll be right here.” He squeezed her hand. “Right nearby.”

He straightened, then opened a drawer in his dresser and grabbed the Tresh feeder cup before confronting Rordan in the hallway, where he knew the man would be waiting.

“Kitchen,” he told Rordan, holding the cup out of sight behind him. “Now.”

When Rordan sat, Theo pulled back the chair catty-corner to Rordan’s, sat down, and placed the cup with the unfamiliar inscription on the table. He watched Rordan’s eyes and mouth and tried to keep the man’s hands in sight as well. Some things didn’t need a common language.