The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (5 page)

“That’s fantastic news!” Sabrina said.

“Hold your horses,” Mary countered. “It’s not that simple. We’ve still got to do those trials, then refine it, then trial, then refine, and that process will take years.”

“But it’s a start…”

“True,” Jim said. “But it leaves us with another problem, one that’s much more fundamental.”

“How so?” Sabrina asked, then threw Jim a questioning glance as Mary shook her head and walked a few steps away. “What’s the deal?”

“She doesn’t agree with me, but the logic can’t be denied. If we create this shot that we then give everyone at birth and it makes them immune to zombies, that shot becomes our new currency. Whoever owns it will own the world.”

“What do you mean? I don’t get it.”

“Think about it! What is more precious, more valuable than life itself? If you control the source of life, or at least the source of preventing infection, you can ask anything for it and people will pay it. What wouldn’t you pay for immunity to walkers?”

Sabrina stepped to one side and sat down in a chair. Everything was coming at her so fast, and Jim was right. The implications for misuse of the immunity would be staggering. Whatever group or individual owned or controlled it would control everything. And who could resist the lure of ultimate power?

“So we have an antibody, but we can’t tell anyone about it, because it might lead to a new dark age or something,” Sabrina said.

“I just don’t see that happening,” Mary said as she leaned on a workbench. “People are good at heart. They won’t withhold the immunity. It wouldn’t make sense. Sure, maybe one or two people would try, but everyone else could get it from someone else who had it.”

Jim shook his head. “If it fell into the wrong hands? What if Dagger had it? What if it was Gardner. Or worse, Warner? Some people are good at heart, but for the most part, given the right conditions, humans are bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling.”

“So what can we do?” Sabrina didn’t know how to process the raging emotions she felt. Excitement and sickening horror and joy and disgust all warred within her, but she found depression and ennui beginning to win the battle.

“There’s hope,” Jim said as he took his seat once more. “We’ve still got millions of journals to go through and trials to administer and knockout mice to breed and who knows, we may come up with something. I have an idea though.”

“It’s crazy! You’re talking about the end of humanity!” Mary shook her head again and stormed off to her desk.

“What’s she on about?” Sabrina asked.

“She doesn’t like my idea.”

“Why not, Jim? What is it?”

“I want to use genetic modifications—gene therapy—to fundamentally alter our DNA so that our children and our children’s children and everyone else forever are immune to the prion.”

“Whoa. But that would mean—”

“And that’s why Mary’s pissed. She doesn’t believe we’ll be human anymore if we do that.”

“Do we need to worry about it right now?” Sabrina gazed at her husband. “Can you just concentrate on one for now and work on that idea on the side?”

Jim smiled. “That’s exactly what I’d planned.”

“How long until we have something to work with on the antibodies?”

“At least four or five years, what with the limited personnel and equipment we have. And we’ll need human test subjects too. Volunteers, of course. But we’re a long way from even that stage.”

“But it’s something, isn’t it?”

“You’re damn right. And that’s something more than we’ve had for a long, long time.”

Bunker Four
Eastern Iowa
Z-Day + 23 years (Present Day)

Logan looked through the hardened glass at the prisoner and wondered again why Davies hadn’t just ordered him killed. After the first year or two, anyway. The man was beyond broken at this point. It was debatable whether or not he even was a man any longer. There was no more they could do to him, no more tortures they could devise that wouldn’t also curb his usefulness. Sure, he’d been an asshole when he was in charge, but that was almost seven years ago now, and this… Well, Logan wouldn’t even treat a pet this way.

And that’s what Malcolm Dagger had become to Davies, a pet. Dagger had made a name for himself in the AEGIS command structure, his intelligence and ruthless ambition moving him up the chain of command. The ambition and ruthlessness behind this success had allowed him to take control of this bunker soon after Z-Day. Not just that, but it had given Dagger the means to carry out his more grandiose plans.

Not that any of that mattered now. The former commander was nothing now. If he could remember his own name, Logan would be surprised.

Logan shook his head and slid the metal tray through the slot in the bottom of the door. The prisoner snatched the moldy bread and stale beans, eating fast. His daily meal was simple. Unless he’d been a bad “dog,” in which case he got nothing but beatings to remind him of his place.

Logan had never been a military man, but most of the guys he worked with now were, or at least they used to be. He knew this wasn’t how the military treated their prisoners, and it was just one more sign that Davies and his ilk were way off the rails.

And that Dagger, should he ever somehow get out and be semi-human, would be even worse. To think the guy had held the fate of the world in his hands once. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

At least Davies seemed to have little to no interest in Dagger’s “pets” down on Level Thirty-Nine. Logan counted that as a minor miracle. It was bad enough that there was a whole bunker full of them out there, but if the ones in
this
bunker were let loose? Logan shuddered at the thought.

“Got a bit of a soft spot for our favorite guest, Logan?” Rickman asked, the taunt clear in his voice. “Does widdle Logan feel bad for him? Hmmm?”

Logan gritted his teeth, refusing to let the dumbass younger man bait him into another argument. He couldn’t afford any more demerits on his record this month. He was going to get docked enough anyway. Ignoring the insult, he closed the slot in the door and moved back to the duty desk, noting the time in the logbook.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, man,” Rickman continued. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, asshole.”

Logan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and put down the pen.
Don’t kill him
, he thought. Even if he was an insufferable little prick.
Don’t kill him
. Once he’d calmed down a bit, he looked over at Rickman. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to know why you’ve got such a thing for your boyfriend in there,” Rickman said with a sneer.

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ for him, you asshat. I wouldn’t treat any human like that, like he’s a pet or a plaything.”

Rickman snorted. “He’s just lucky the boss didn’t kill him.”

“Lucky? You call that lucky? The man wears a collar now. Davies made him crawl around on all fours. He fed him scraps—for all intents and purposes turned him into a dog.” Logan shook his head. “No, he’d have been better off if the boss
had
killed him.” He looked over at the cell with a worried expression. “Maybe we all would have been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know the things he did when he was still in charge?”

“I heard rumors, but nothing solid. I wasn’t part of the team back then.”

Logan sat back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk. “Well, then, sit back and listen, man. ‘Cause what he did will give you nightmares.”

What remained of Malcolm Dagger sat silent in the corner of the filthy, stinking cell that had become his home. A meager fluorescent bulb cast a dim light through the stained and broken plastic cover of its housing. What it revealed left him wishing yet again that it was just dark. The cell was several hundred feet underground, so there were no windows to speak of. Though his chains were long gone, he still moved as though tied to a central spot in the floor. His captors thought him beaten, thought him broken. They thought him a shell of the man, of the leader he had once been. And to a degree, they were right.

But Malcolm Dagger had plans, plans that didn’t involve sitting and stewing in his own filth for much longer. He’d learned some vital lessons over the last few years. Lessons about people, about torture, and about just how far you can take someone before they break. He’d come close to losing himself more than once. But somehow, he’d clung to life, to sanity, by the barest thread of willpower that he could muster.

Davies was a fool. It was possible to rule through fear, at least for a time. He knew, because he’d done it. But in the end, the rule of fear only lasted so long. To have total control, the people you ruled had to be on your side. Otherwise, it would all fall apart.

“Look what happened to me, after all,” he muttered, a slight lilt to his tone and with a small chuckle. He was so far gone, he no longer noticed when he muttered out loud.

Dagger squatted down, since there was nowhere to sit in his kennel, and rested his chin on his hands as he thought. It all came back to the others, to Blake and Barnes in Bunker One and their lapdog Anderson. If he’d been able to get rid of them… “Bah!” Dagger said with a shake of his head as he dismissed the idea. Dwelling in the past had caused… unfortunate things for him.

Now wasn’t the time for regrets. It was the time for action. The others were coming or would be soon, and if Davies didn’t see it soon enough, they would all die. For a brief moment, Dagger entertained the thought of how the do-gooders might react once they got their hands on him. The thought was… unpleasant. He shook his head and paced the room, tracing and retracing the same steps he’d taken over the years so many times.

It was time to get out. He had work to do, things to prepare. And he couldn’t do it sitting in this cell. First things first: get out of the cell. Then it would be time to deal with Davies, Blake, Anderson… all of them.

He didn’t even hear himself chuckling. A low rumbling laugh came to his lips only to be choked back without even conscious thought. A victim of the lessons he’d learned the hard way.

Soon, Davies
, he thought.
Soon…

Governor’s Quarters
Mount Rainier, Washington

Angela Gates felt her age as she welcomed her friends Kimberly and David Blake into her home. Even in their forties, they both looked so young, in the prime of their lives. She wasn’t quite the trim, fit figure she’d once been, even most of the way through her fifties. Those fifties were long gone now too.

But her grip was strong, she still played tennis from time to time, and her mind was sharp as ever, as her husband Daniel reminded her often. He stood behind her now and put his hands on her shoulders to knead the tension from the muscles. She sighed with relief. She patted him on the hand, looking up into those startling blue eyes, now framed by slight wrinkles. Though somewhat younger than she, the passage of time had not skipped him either, and it made her feel even older.

She sighed and took Daniel’s hand. Her husband smiled at her, and she felt as if he was somehow infusing his whole being with the love and support he felt for her. It was just what she needed.

To be honest, she’d been feeling old for quite some time. It was time to move on, to give someone from the next generation a chance
.
She breathed deep of the recycled, stale-smelling air, seeking the calm she would need for the task ahead. She had long since stopped paying attention to the dull gray walls, the table worn smooth over twenty years of use. All the little failings and problems that even the best maintenance team in the world couldn’t fix. It was time to get out in the fresh air, to see the sun each morning and be somewhere else. Seventy-six was plenty old enough to retire. Just one last thing to do…

“I’m glad you two could come over for dinner,” she said as her guests settled onto the couch. She sat at her usual chair, with David perched on the arm as always. “I have some news, though, and I wanted you two to hear it first.” She took a deep breath and went on. “I’m stepping down as governor.”

Both Kim and David sat stunned, as if she’d frozen them in time. David was the first to recover. “But why? You’ve done so much for us.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m leaving. Well, one of the reasons. I want to go out on a high note. Approval ratings notwithstanding, I know I’ve done a good job here, and I want that to be what people remember most about my life.” She squeezed Daniel’s hand and continued. “But it’s not just that. I’m seventy-six years old, and for most of my life, I’ve been working. I want some time to rest now. Some time to
live
, to spend with Daniel, before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”

Kim nodded in understanding. “I can appreciate that. What with Eden being a holy terror lately, George doing his damndest to learn from her, plus ExForce and everything else… Every once in a while, I wish we could still hop on a plane and be on a beach in a few hours.”

“Her brother is taking after his namesake, then?” Gates asked. “General Maxwell was always a handful, as I remember.”

“‘A handful’ is putting it mildly,” David said. “He’s been acting out in every way he can think of. Some days I wish George Sr. was around to take him to task.”

“I wish he was still around too,” Gates said, and they all took a brief moment to remember their old friend. “On to other things. I’m glad you mentioned ExForce, because I’m not just going to be resting on my laurels. I’ve already talked to Lieutenant Colonel Gaines about it. Once Eatonville is ready for recolonization to start, we want to be in the first group to settle it.”

“Wow,” David said.

“I’ll still have Daniel here,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “And it’s
outside
. I’m tired of this place, David. So soul-weary of these same grey walls, of the monitors, of the problems of ten thousand people. I just want to deal with my own problems for a little while. Is that too much to ask?”

David smiled. “Of course not. You’ve served your time. We won’t ever find anyone to replace you, though.”