“We’ve had the bomber under wraps so our enemies couldn’t find out about it. It’s called the X-47B. It looks a lot like a Stealth bomber. It can carry four thousand pounds of weapons.”
“Including bombs?”
“Yes, sir. We could load that baby up with thermite bombs, no sweat.” Byrd was getting worked up as he spoke, his excitement rising at the notion of action.
“How many of these X-47Bs do we have in operation?”
“At least fifty that I know of.”
“We’d be bombing our own people,” put in Mellors.
“They’re not people anymore,” said Cole. “They’re flesh-eating creatures that are wiping out our entire population.”
“Right now bombs are the best way to stop them,” said Byrd.
“America’s gonna look like a wasteland after you get through bombing it,” said Mellors. “Not to mention the uninfected people the bombs’ll kill.”
“Every battle includes the risk of collateral damage. You can’t wage any war without collateral damage. It’s the nature of warfare.”
“Bombing should be a last resort.”
Mellors couldn’t believe he was hearing himself say this. After all, he was the one who had murdered Coogan to prevent him from telling anybody that the government was involved in the creation of the zombie virus. But this whole thing was getting out of hand. Indiscriminate killing of countless innocent civilians? What was next on Cole’s agenda?
“We need to shit or get off the pot,” said Byrd. “Time waits for no man.”
“We’re cutting off our noses to spite our faces. Am I the only one who sees that?” said Mellors.
“We need to act,” said Cole. “The burden of this decision rests on my shoulders alone.”
Cole inspected the three faces around him.
Nobody said anything.
“We initiate the bombing campaign,” said Cole.
Byrd gnashed his teeth in anticipation. “Now you’re talking! We’re gonna put a stop to this damn zombie invasion once and for all. Where do we start?”
Cole chewed it over. “New York and California. These two states have the highest infestations of the infected. The denser the population, the faster the plague spreads.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Does your choice of California as ground zero have anything to do with Halverson’s being there?” said Slocum.
Cole stood up. “No. This isn’t about one person. It’s about doing what’s best for the country.”
“And this ain’t no ground zero yet,” Byrd told Slocum. “These are thermite bombs we’re talking about. Not nukes.” He turned to Cole. “Or have you changed your mind about the nukes, sir?”
“No. We use the thermite bombs. Prepare the drones so they’ll be armed and ready when I give the order.”
“Right, sir. We’ll hit the big cities first and go from there.”
General Byrd bustled out of the office.
Face grave, standing near his desk, Cole muttered, “What have I done?”
CHAPTER 38
Las Vegas
Quantrill was pacing back and forth in her conference room in the Mirage. A dozen of her soldiers and McLellan formed a ring around the room. At the rectangular mahogany table in the center of the room sat Halverson and Chogan.
“You guys stepped out of line back at the shelter,” she told Halverson and Chogan. “When I tell you to do something, everybody does it or they’re out of here. Got it?”
“You made the wrong call leaving your men behind in the third car,” said Halverson.
“I never make the wrong call.”
“You did back there.”
“It’s my call to make. Not yours.”
“Look,” said Chogan. “We don’t live here. We’re just passing through. We’re not your soldiers.”
“As long as you’re here in Vegas, you do what I tell you,” said Quantrill. “I’m running this city. Everybody has to play by the rules. Even visitors.”
“That’s fine with me,” said Chogan, getting to his feet. “I don’t plan on staying. You want to abandon more of your men to be torn apart by zombies, be my guest.”
“Sit down.”
Chogan stood his ground.
“This is my conference room and I’m telling you to sit down,” said Quantrill.
Chogan took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Sit him down,” Quantrill ordered her men.
Two muscle-bound soldiers strode toward Chogan, grabbed his shoulders roughly from behind, and shoved him into his seat.
“What the fuck?” said Chogan, angrily swiping the soldiers’ hands away from his shoulders.
“You don’t seem to get it,” said Quantrill.
“You’re the one who doesn’t get it. We’re not your flunkies.”
“You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”
“You’re some lady who’s a legend in her own mind.”
Quantrill withdrew a hunting knife from a leather sheath fastened to her belt. “I’m the lady who’s personally gonna cut off your balls and force-feed them to your buddy, if you don’t toe the line here. Then I’ll slice his off and stuff them down your throat.”
She held the tip of the knife under Chogan’s nose.
Leaning back in his chair, Chogan burst out laughing.
Incensed, Quantrill adjusted her grip on her knife and thrust the blade down into his thigh.
His gales of laughter turned into screams of pain.
Quantrill withdrew the bloody knife and held it in front of Chogan’s agonized face. “You’re lucky I didn’t cut your femoral artery or you’d bleed out in front of my eyes.”
Teeth grinding, face twisted with pain, Chogan pressed his hands against his thigh to stanch the flow of blood.
“Why don’t you just kill us?” said Halverson, curbing his urge to leap out of his chair and throttle Quantrill.
“I don’t have a reason to kill you yet,” said Quantrill. “As soon as you give me a reason, I’ll kill you. But not before I mutilate you and watch you two eat each other’s bloody balls.”
“You’re certifiable,” spat Chogan.
“Take him to the medic before I start playing hardball with him,” Quantrill ordered her men.
The knife clutched in her hand dripped Chogan’s blood onto the floor.
The same two heavyset soldiers that had muscled Chogan into his chair yanked him off his seat and frog-marched him out of the conference room. Grimacing in pain, Chogan left a weaving trail of blood droplets on the floor in his wake.
“You could have killed him,” said Halverson between his teeth.
“I told you I didn’t want to kill him yet,” said Quantrill. “Your problem is you don’t listen.”
Halverson realized he was dealing with a full-fledged psychopath and said nothing. He wasn’t ignorant of the fact that she had armed guards protecting her. His flying off the handle wouldn’t help matters.
Any fool could see Quantrill was trying to assert her superiority over him as well as over Chogan, decided Halverson. She wanted to make sure Halverson understood she was the meanest badass in this joint.
“You’re probably wondering how I became top dog here,” said Quantrill, flicking at her hair above her forehead even though her brunette hair was held in place by her ponytail.
“Not really,” said Halverson.
“It’s because I understand people,” she went on without missing a beat. “Everybody wants to be the boss. But the fact is everybody can’t be the boss. Too many cooks spoil the broth. ‘So who gets to be the boss?’ you may ask.”
“I’m not asking anything. I didn’t sign up for this class.”
Quantrill strutted toward the table, leaned forward, planted her fists against its top, and gazed across the mahogany at Halverson.
“Knowledge is power,” she said. “The one who knows the most becomes the boss. And that person is me.”
“Do you k
now how I can get out of this place?”
Quantrill ignored Halverson’s sarcasm.
“I also know how to control the zombies,” she said. “I know how the zombie mentality works, and this knowledge gives me an edge over them.”
Halverson wasn’t impressed. “I know how to control them, too. With a bullet to the brain.”
Quantrill shook her head, her expression smug. “You can control only one zombie at a time like that. I can control throngs of them.”
Halverson didn’t believe it. The walking dead could not think. Too, they could not feel, either emotionally or physically. How could you control such a being? wondered Halverson. Locking them up or wasting them was the only answer.
“I doubt it,” he said.
“You don’t have the training in psychology that I do. The trouble with you is you’re like everybody else. When you think of controlling someone, you immediately think of negative reinforcement.”
Halverson followed her thought. “Instead of using the carrot, use the stick.”
“Exactly. The stick is the first thing that comes to mind when dealing with the walking dead. But the stick doesn’t work in their case.”
“A bullet to the brain will work every time.”
Screwing up her face, she shook her head and ran her fingers over her hair at his shortsightedness. “That’s not controlling the creatures. That’s killing them.”
“The best way to control them, like I said before.”
“It takes way too long to kill all of them with bullets. You can control lots more with a carrot.”
“Why does that work better than a bullet?”
“Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying?” she said, nettled by his inability to comprehend her.
“Why should positive reinforcement work better than negative reinforcement?”
Quantrill smiled faintly, pleased that she was finally getting through to him. “Maybe you’re beginning to understand.”
“I understand you’re full of it.”
“Negative reinforcement doesn’t work with nonsentient creatures like the walking dead. They can’t feel any kind of pain, so how can you punish them? If you can’t punish them, you can’t train them using negative reinforcement.”
“Punish them with a bullet to the head. Who said anything about training them? They don’t need to be trained. They need to be destroyed.”
“You’re not listening to me,” she said in exasperation.
“You said you can’t train them with negative reinforcement.”
“Finally,” she said with a sigh.
“And I said punish them with a bullet to the head.”
“That doesn’t punish them. It kills them.” Quantrill paused, letting her words sink in.
“Death is a pretty severe punishment, if you ask me.”
“But it doesn’t deter them, because they don’t care whether they live or die. That’s why negative reinforcement doesn’t work with them. The only way you can get them to do something is by offering them a carrot. Think of Pavlov’s dogs.”
“You ring a bell and give them food.”
Quantrill smiled superciliously. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
Something in what she was saying was escaping him, decided Halverson with unease. But he could not figure out what, and that in turn was increasing his discomfiture.
CHAPTER 39
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center
President Cole, Ernest Slocum, and Scot Mellors were trooping into the TV studio in the bunker.
A thirtyish brunette hastened up to Cole and began applying makeup to his face as he approached the TV stage.
“What are you gonna tell the people about the bombings, Mr. President?” said Slocum.
Frowning, Cole paused in front of the stage and gently pushed the makeup artist away from him. “I’m trying to come up with an answer to that before I step in front of the camera.”
“They’re gonna think the country’s under attack as soon as bombs start blowing up all over the place,” said Mellors. “Talk about panic. You’re gonna foment mass hysteria with these bombs. The plague is bad enough without bombs falling in everybody’s lap.”
Cole raised his hands, palms outward in front of his chest. “Get a grip and settle down.”
“Probably the truth is the best thing to tell them,” said Slocum, adjusting his sky blue silk moiré necktie. “Seems a tad hot in here. Maybe we should turn down the thermostat.”
Perspiration beaded above his upper lip.
“There’s still time to change your mind, Mr. President,” said Mellors.
“No,” said Cole. “We have to act. This is a crisis of historic proportions. If we don’t do something now, the country will be lost.”
“We need to warn the people to evacuate California and New York,” said Slocum.
“There aren’t many uninfected folks left in those states. That’s one reason I chose those two.”
“We should still issue a notice to evacuate.”
“I am. That’s what I’m about to do, just in case there are any citizens still alive in the target areas.”
“I can’t believe we’re actually discussing bombing our own country,” said Mellors more to himself than to anyone else.
Now, like Slocum, he, too, was breaking into a sweat.
“It is paramount that we destroy the infected and incinerate their bodies so they cannot spread the plague,” said Cole.
“There must be a better way,” said Mellors.
“Then tell it to me. I’m all ears.”
Mellors fetched a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe it’s better if we let the people think they’re being bombed by a foreign country,” said Slocum.
“Why do you say that, Ernest?” said Cole.
Slocum scratched his pate. “It might be less traumatic to the public if they believed an enemy was bombing them instead of their own country orchestrating it.”
Cole mulled it over. “I see your point, but, on the other hand, they might be even more terrified if they believed a foreign country was invading us. It would make it look like their own government had collapsed and wasn’t able to defend them.”
“This is all speculation,” said Mellors. “The bottom line is we don’t know what the people are gonna do when bombs start dropping out of the sky on them. Whatever they do, it won’t be pretty.”
“I believe they’ll see me as a strong leader who’s willing to take forceful action in order to save the country when they hear me announce to them I’m starting the bombing campaign.”
“Then again they might become terrified of you, thinking you’ve lost your mind.”
Cole shot his cuffs. “I’d rather have them fear me than scoff at me for being a weakling incapable of making a decision when the chips are down.”
Slocum’s eyes lit up as he hit on an idea. “We’ll pursue that narrative, Mr. President. We’ll present you as the forceful leader willing to take decisive action to save America. Alternatively, if we tell the people we’re under attack by a foreign enemy, it makes you look like a pussy unable to protect the country.”
Cole did a double take. “The president of the United States of America, the strongest country in the world, is not a pussy.”
“No, sir. That’s the narrative we need to hew to. The people understand and respect strong leadership.”
“Even if it means they might get blown up on account of it,” said Mellors, feeling like a commentator on the sidelines of this conversation.
“You’re giving it the wrong spin,” Slocum said, facing Mellors.
“I’m not talking about spin. I’m talking about innocent people’s lives.”
“I’m the president,” said Cole, chopping the air with his hand. “I have to think about the greater good. No matter what I do, somebody’s gonna get hurt. That’s just the way it is. We need to fight back against the infected and take our country back.”
Slocum nodded with approval. “That’s the kind of speech the people need to hear. Stick to the narrative of the forceful, dynamic leader.”
Jaw set, Cole made his way toward the desk on the stage.
“I wouldn’t want to be living in New York or California,” Mellors told Slocum.
“The pandemic is in full swing in those states, and you know it,” said Slocum. “You need to stop looking at the dark side all the time.”
“How do you find a bright side, the way things are going?”
“Quiet on the set,” said the director, who was standing near the camera wearing a floppy khaki hat and baggy khaki trousers, looking like a cross between a gangbanger and a navy SEAL.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Cole, sitting behind his studio desk and staring into the camera lens that had a red light shining under it, “I sit before you tonight with a heavy heart. We have come to a crossroads. The plague is getting the upper hand in this country. I can’t and won’t let that happen. I have decided to take decisive action against the spread of the pandemic.
“Everyone in the states of New York and California must evacuate immediately.” Cole paused, gathering himself. “I have not made this decision lightly. But the time has come for me to take decisive action. The plague must be stopped dead in its tracks. The infected must be destroyed and burned. They must be taught that we will never capitulate to them.
“The bombardment of New York and California will commence at noon tomorrow. By that time, all residents of those states must have evacuated.” Cole’s eyes became soulful. “Good luck and God bless all of you.”
“What about the poor bastards who don’t have TVs?” Mellors asked Slocum in a whisper.
“We’re broadcasting over the emergency radio frequency as well,” answered Slocum.
“We are on the path to taking back America, and Lord help anyone or anything that stands in our way,” said Cole into the unblinking camera.
CHAPTER 40
Las Vegas
Tuckered out though he was, Halverson decided to take a flier that night and explore what lay beyond the side streets off the strip. He decided to go alone. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. Besides, he didn’t want to jeopardize Victoria and Emma. Recovering from his wound Chogan was in no condition to go anywhere on shank’s mare.
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