Janice put a question mark next to Russia. Will scoffed as Sato let a half-smile escape. Garrett put his finger up and made a little check mark in the air. “Score one for Sato-san.”
Janice couldn’t help but laugh at the gallows humor.
Iraq and Iran were dismissed quickly. If they had done it, the world would have known already.
Will read the board.
“North Korea.
“China.
“Russia?”
Janice stepped back. “Holy shit,” she said. “It’s fucking China.”
“What?”
“It’s China. It has to be.”
“Care to explain, Bosh?” Will said.
“Those fucking bastards. It can’t be Korea. They got overrun by China two months ago. If Korea had it, they would have used it to try and stop them. So Korea is out. That leaves Russia and China. It could be Russia, but even they would have a hard time pulling this off. China has the resources, the control, the ability to hide it. It all points to them.”
Janice circled China on the map.
“How can you be sure?” Dr. Sato asked. “You said it had to be a country that hated America. I mean the Chinese don’t hate us. Hell, they made tons of money off us. That doesn’t fit.”
Janice stared at the map. Sato’s words hung in the air. No one had an answer for them. Janice knew she was right but couldn’t fit the last piece in place.
Agent Jeffries filled in the last piece, “They didn’t do it because they hated us. They did it to get us out of the picture.”
***
Janice sat in what she could only described as the most comfortable office chair she ever sat in. Will and Garrett sat in chairs flanking her while Agents Betzon and Jeffries stood off to the side. They were the only five people in the War Room of the White House. She hadn’t been in this room since the videoconference eight months ago, but this was the first time for Will and Garrett. The room was the same as it ever was, the large, highly polished wooden table sat in the center. Televisions lined the walls. The ones that were on ran news stations from around the world; the ones that were off were used for various kinds of incoming video feeds.
Eight months ago she told the President of the United States that the country was under attack by zombies. Now she was about to tell him that China was responsible. Janice smiled and laughed. Her two colleagues turned and looked at her.
“Something funny, Bosh?” Garrett asked.
“Pondering how I will go down in history after I die. First to proclaim the zombie outbreak in America and now we will possibly be able to add started World War III when she claimed China created the virus. I’d say that’s pretty solid.”
“Nice,” said Garrett.
The door opened and a young man in a tailored dark blue suit stepped in. “The President of the United States.”
The three doctors stood as President Lansing walked in the room. He nodded and the young man stepped out and shut the door. “Janice, it’s good to see you,” the president said, walking over and shaking her hand. He looked at the men with her. “Quite a group you have with you. Drs. Ayers and Pasek, it is an honor to finally meet you both in person. Thank you for your tireless efforts in our endeavor.” He shook hands with them and stepped by them to the two FBI agents.
“Agents Betzon and Jeffries. Thank you as well. I know you have both gone above and beyond the call of duty more times than I can imagine. Please, join us at the table. I want your input as well.” He motioned them to the table and gave each a firm handshake.
The president sat and the others followed his lead. “Your email said you cracked the virus and you know who produced it. Whoever it is, history will change, once again because of you. Please, Janice, tell me what you know.”
The president looked at her. Was that hope she saw in his expression? She didn’t know anything, only a direction to go in. “We have isolated all the components of the virus. It is a combination of six different species of animals. I have sent that information to all departments with clearance for this information.”
The president nodded. “I have seen it. Can’t say I understand much of it but the animals that were used.”
He paused and Janice continued. “Once we were 100 percent sure this was man-made, we had to figure out who made it. Testing was the key. This all had to be done with human test subjects since we have not found any animal that the virus affects. All we needed was to figure out what country had the resources, the government to hide it, and the reason to do it. After a few hours of discussion, we came up with a short list of three: Russia, North Korea, and China. We don’t know this for a fact yet, but the country we picked of those three seems the most logical choice, and it was Agent Jeffries that tipped the scale. China, Mr. President. China created this virus and let it loose on the United States.”
President Lansing leaned back in his chair and put his two index fingers to his chin. “But you cannot prove this yet, can you, Janice?”
“No, Mr. President, but I …” Janice paused. She knew she couldn’t prove it. She knew she would be asked this but there was something about his tone of voice.
“I’m sorry, Janice,” the president said. “I’m not questioning you, but before I can officially go any further, I need proof beyond any doubt that China is behind this.
“Do you all agree that it was China?” Everyone in the room nodded. “That is not good enough. I want to hear each of you say it.”
After each person in the room gave their verbal agreement that it was China, the president leaned forward. “So if it is China, then why did they do it?”
Janice looked over to Agent Jeffries. He straightened up slightly. “Imperialism. They want more territory.”
“Why us? Why this?” President Lansing said, turning his attention to the FBI agent.
“Who else could stop them?” Randall said. “Years ago I read a book in which China made a play for world domination. There were only two countries that had the ability to stop them: the United States and India. I think that still holds true to this day. India can only do it if they rally their entire population, which they haven’t done yet, and I don’t think they will. We have the technology and could have rallied support, but not in the shape we are in right now.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, Mr. President. It all fits. China shuts us down with the virus. The world finally gets the chance to say good riddance to America. China waits a bit and does exactly what they did, walk over Southeast Asia quicker than the Germans marched through Eastern Europe in World War II. In the two months since they attacked Korea, they absorbed almost every country in that part of the world. Sure, Russia squawked for a minute, then backed down. China gambled that no other country would rally the world the way we did. They gambled and won.”
Randall stopped talking and looked around the room, his eyes moving from the president to Janice and back to the president.
“Thank you, Agent Jeffries,” the president said. “As you put it, ‘it all fits.’ Now what? I admit, we have talked about the timing on China’s part, but we were going with they always had a plan in place to attack. We never talked about them doing anything like this. We need proof, Janice. What do you need from me?”
The Game Show
Things had begun to settle down. Cities were regaining order. People were starting to move on, learning how to cope with their new world. The mindset of the country had changed. Even the most conservative Americans had their eyes opened to the horror that they experienced. The first to capitalize on the new America was Hollywood. Slightly more than two years after The Night, a new reality game show appeared, Hunter Slayer. Two men, each hunting five zombies, first to kill all of them won valuable prizes. It was a huge hit. American television was never the same.
Excerpt from “The Decade”
Dr. Rudolph Graham
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s get ready to play!”
The audience came to life and yelled back, “Hunter Slayer!
”
“Yes!” The lights over the stage and audience swung out into a big bally-hoo, flashing and changing colors. Techno music thumped loudly. The host and creator of the show, Matthew Ramsey, raised his hands and the crowd got louder. Everything about him was immaculate, from his well-toned physique to his short brown hair and his navy blue designer suit chosen specifically to accent his steel blue eyes. He smiled, allowing the swell to build. When he felt the energy beginning to lag, he dropped his hands, silencing the crowd. The crew hit their cue in time with Matthew’s gesture and the lights and music died. A slow red pulse of light began to fill the stage, except where Matthew stood lit for the television audience.
“That’s right, folks, it’s time for Hunter Slayer—the show where we send two people just like you, to kill some of those horrible, wretched, vile, soulless zombies.” The crowd roared again. Matthew had them on a string. Only the fifth week on the air and his show was getting higher ratings than any Super Bowl or Oscar Awards show.
Matthew stepped off his mark. The spotlights in the grid snapped open, keeping him bathed in light as he moved across the stage. A low rumble emanated from the strategically placed speakers. The thousand-plus studio audience, feeling the bass resonate, sprang to life with a collective roar.
Matthew boomed into his microphone, “Do you want to meet our contestants?”
The crowd rose and screamed for more. Matthew focused the power of his trained voice, commanding them, “I said, do you want to meet our contestants?”
The crowd responded in turn by cheering even louder.
He was toying with them and they loved every minute of it. “That’s better! Let’s bring ‘em out!” Matthew turned with a flourish and headed towards the back of the stage. The crew, anticipating his move, hit their cues a split second ahead of him, the studio going black and silent.
From the darkness a new voice emerged, the powerful baritone announcer. “Our challenger,” the throbbing techno swelled under his words, “hails from the great state of Montana. He awoke the first morning to find his wife and son turned. At that moment he vowed to kill every zombie he could.”
The audience was on edge, waiting—feeding off every word. “We found him near the outskirts of Bozeman leading a small band of survivors. Every member of the group spoke of his bravery, his tenacity, and his leadership. He is a true American.”
Lights flashed at the upstage right corner. Red, white, and blue strobe hits drew the audience’s eyes exactly where the producers wanted them. From under the set an elevator began to rise. The crowd’s raucous cheering drowned out the music; energy in the studio was at a fevered pitch.
Matthew’s voice cut back in, “Our challenger, Alex Divanti!” The lights snapped to all white, strobing faster. The elevator stopped, bringing the new Slayer level with the set. Taut and chiseled, in his late twenties, Alex had close-cropped brown hair and a scar that ran from the corner of his eye to the back of his jaw. His black SWAT team style uniform looked like it was tailored only for him. He stood emotionless, not getting caught up in the fervor around him. He looked focused, ready for the event about to take place. Closing his eyes, he stretched his neck and slowly bowed his head. The lights stopped flashing and began to dim, leaving Alex bathed in just enough light for the cameras to pick him up if they needed to.
The announcer’s voice once again reverberated in the studio. “Now, our current champion. A survivor from Grand Island, New York, and one of the civilian militia in the Battle of Buffalo.” Another bank of lights faded up over the upstage left corner. An eerie mix of dark purple and blue pulsed in rhythm with the rumble of the bass. A low-hanging fog rolled across the stage. There was no music this time, only the growl of the bass, gradually getting louder until the studio and its audience vibrated with its power.
“He has four wins and twenty kills in our arena. All of his winnings are going to the survivors of Grand Island. When his time is up here, he will return to the front lines.”
The crowd was frenzied once more. Clapping, cheering, all cares and worries forgotten in this moment. Matthew surveyed the crowd, feeling the surge of its energy. He waited. Waited. There was the slightest drop and Matthew pounced, his voice rang out, “Four-time winner and only nineteen years old, Jonas Wetherbey!”
Four columns of CO2 shot up towards the grid as purple and blue beams of light danced around the champion’s elevator. Jonas stood motionless as it came to a stop. He was taller than Alex and had a buzz haircut. Dressed in military green camouflage with sleeves rolled up, he stood with his arms clasped behind his back and stared directly at the crowd. Jonas showed none of the youthfulness of someone his age, but of a soul that had seen too much, too soon.
The television lights faded back up and Matthew stood on his mark between the two contestants.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “you know the rules. First to kill five zombies wins. You both will be given any two weapons of your choice, one hand held, and one ranged. Alex, as our challenger, you choose first. What will you be using?”
On the studio monitors and televisions across the nation, people saw a close-up of Alex, his face lined and worn. He raised his head and opened his eyes. Alex spoke for the first time, voice clear and calm, “I will take my Stealth XLT crossbow and my Interceptor 911 combat knife.”
“How about that, America!” Matthew replied, his voice rising, leading the crowd along. “Our first contestant to go out without a handgun. Let’s show him how we feel!” The studio audience stomped their feet, clapped and cheered. Two women dressed in what could only loosely be called combat fatigues, entered the stage, showing off their bought and paid for bodies, exaggerating every practiced move for the cameras as they presented Alex his weapons.
Matthew turned and faced Jonas. “Now, our four-time champion.” His voice dropped in pitch bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Jonas Wetherbey, what will you choose this week? Alex has put the pressure on you by going with a crossbow. Are you going to match him weapon for weapon or do you think your experience in the field will carry the day?”
Jonas knew Matthew was playing to the crowd, but for some reason he didn’t like the way it sounded, as if taking a pistol or a rifle would make him somehow less of a fighter than Alex. Everyone backstage knew what weapons he was going to use. Both of them had chosen their weapons earlier. The girls were waiting for their cue to bring them out. For a heartbeat Jonas thought about changing his mind to see what the guys backstage would do. He quickly dismissed the thought. Going to fight Zs is no time to change your weapons because you want to see the reaction of some television producers.
“I’m going with my USMC standard issue combat knife and my Glock 17.” Two different camo clad girls gyrated their way to him, making a show of presenting Jonas with his weapons. Each girl gave the young champion a kiss on the lips and the crowd roared again. They were ready for the hunt to begin.
The Director called an audience shot. Two seconds later he called another, followed by a third a couple seconds after that. His years in the industry made this clockwork.
William may play the crowd, but I play millions of Americans. They see what I want them to, when I want them to.
“Take Camera One.” His monitor showed Camera One tight on Matthew. He was giving his ‘let’s send them on their way’ bit.
“Camera Two, give me all three and then stand by for rules package.” He stood up from his chair, his eyes scanning all the camera feeds in front of him. “Take Two.” The monitor showed Matthew spin away from the crowd towards the Slayers, all three men now on camera.
“Go Rules Package.” The Director took a swig of his rum and Coke and waited for his real work to begin.
Matthew appeared on screens across America. He was in front of a map split in half with a pointer in his hands. “Here are the rules,” he began. “The Slayer to kill five zombies in the quickest time wins. Each player will come out of one of the six entrance points.” His pointer hit the map where there was a
circle with an X through it. He then tapped the other five Xs to make sure everyone saw them. “Five zombies are already wandering the area. We know, that depending on how long they’ve been turned, zombies react differently, so we do our best to make sure that they’re the same for both players. Each time a player kills a zombie, it will be scored by our three guest judges. That score will be subtracted from the player’s overall time. Each judge scores up to five points in each of the three categories: range, skill, and creativity. A perfect score is worth 45 seconds.”
The map behind him morphed into a forest scene at dusk. Shadows were creeping in and it was hard to see clearly. “Remember”—Matthew’s face was stoic. He let the scene sink in for the viewers — “this is what it will look like for our Slayers, but thanks to our patented nightview technology, your view will be this.” The map morphed again, this time to a crystal clear view of the forest. “Now, let’s play … Hunter Slayer!”
“Fade out Rules Package and fade up on Camera Three. Take Three,” The Director called calmly and clearly into the headset. He may have had all the monitors to look at, but all the viewing audience saw was Camera Three.
Matthew was on the front of the stage, awash in light. Behind him three people sat at a table that had the Hunter Slayer logo, a shield with two crossed combat knives and an H and S through them, lit up. There was only backlight on the three people giving them a shadowed look, which made Matthew and the Hunter Slayer logo stand out even more on camera. A large LED video wall now filled the area upstage where the elevators had been not even five minutes ago.
“Okay, America,” Matthew said, “Jonas’ screens will glow red and Alex’s will glow blue. The men are almost in position. Not only will we have our usual cameras around the battle area and on our Slayers, but we have an exciting new feature starting this week. We have fitted each zombie, don’t ask us how, with a wireless remote camera.”
The Night Page 13