by M. Lorrox
Minnie looks up. “Seeing some exhibits. This rock is from the moon.”
Along one wall of the cafeteria are objects from the various collections held by the Smithsonian museums. There are guitars from famous musicians, some Native American artifacts—that catch Skip’s eye for a moment—and a case that Minnie and her friends are standing at which holds objects from manned space missions. Next in the row is a model of a building. Skip moves over to it and smiles with recognition.
“Minnie, do you see this? This is the Smithsonian castle. Do you think Valentine would like to live in a castle like this?”
She plasters her face against the plexiglass case, then smashes Valentine’s head against it too. “I dunno, I don’t see a moat.”
Jennifer chuckles. Tommy scoots over to investigate with his stuffed doggy, Herbert. “Those towers are cool! They’re different.”
Indeed, the Smithsonian Institution Building—AKA the castle—has nine differently shaped towers extending from the various sections of the asymmetric, Romanesque-Revival style building. Skip reads a placard next to the display. “This was the architect, James Renwick, Jr.’s model that he won the design contest with... That’s really interesting.”
Minnie points to a photo on the wall. “Is that him?”
Skip glances at a black and white photograph showing a lanky man with a mustache standing next to a trench, with the castle in the background. He reads the caption. “Richard Rathbun stands beside the utility tunnel between the Smithsonian Institution Building and the new National Museum of Natural History, 1909.” He shakes his head. “No, he’s not the architect.”
Skip looks at another photo on the side, showing the completion of the Freer Gallery of Art in 1921. “Wow, there’s so much history here.”
Jennifer smirks at Skip’s definition of history.
Minnie moves Valentine up for a different view. She lays her down flat on the plexiglass case’s top. “I think she likes it. I’ll tell Eddy we should make our next castle like this one.”
Jennifer snickers, and Skip glances at her. He shrugs with a smile, then he bends down to Minnie. “I’m going to go again for a bit, you’ll stay with Tommy and Jennifer?”
She nods.
Skip looks at Jennifer again. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Skip walks out of the cafeteria and heads down the hall toward the stairs to the main lobby. Now where’s that bathroom I saw? At the end of the hall is a bigger hall, with gift shops on the sides, curving stairwells leading to the main exhibit halls and the rotunda with the gigantic castrated elephant, and at the far end, the handicap accessible main entrance of the museum from Constitution Avenue.
Skip’s out of the side hall, sees the bathroom sign, and is turning toward it when he hears glass shattering. He jumps and looks—a big zombie lurches through the door and stumbles over a barricade.
SHIT! Skip turns and runs back toward the cafeteria as the big zombie gets up and starts running down the hall toward him.
Other zombies follow close on its heels.
Gorgi leads Eddy and Enrique through a series of halls, then finally into one that’s sectioned off from the rest labeled BIOHAZARD—QUARANTINE. They round another corner and pass through a set of doors, and a nurse with lovely green sparkling eyes greets them.
She speaks with a warm, southern accent, “My name is Jacqueline. Come with me, boys, we’ve got a room all set for you.”
Gorgi puts his hand on Eddy’s shoulder. “They’re treating your friend too—just ask to see her when you’re ready. I’ve got to get out of here; I’m still on duty.”
Eddy extends his hand toward Gorgi to shake. “Thank you, we really appreciate everything.”
He shakes it. “Part of my job. Later.” He turns and leaves.
Jacqueline waits with a gentle smile. “Come along, now.”
Eddy and Enrique are put in room 1412. The nurse finds them some old sweatpants and sweatshirts to put on instead of their thrashed clothes. After they help themselves to some fresh pints of blood, they take turns changing and cleaning up in the bathroom.
Eddy goes in first. He changes, then studies himself in the mirror. He has some minor cuts on his face that have scabbed over, and his knuckles are skinned raw and pink. He looks at his hands, then makes them into fists. I swear I’m going to kill Dr. Melgaard. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll watch him die!
He closes his eyes. June, you can’t be gone. You just can’t... Mom told Gorgi to have the hospital keep treating her—they’ll bring her back.
“Ahem… Leo, are you done yet?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Eddy splashes water on his face, then he opens the door and walks out.
While Enrique is in the bathroom, Eddy cleans the bowie knife that he named after its previous owner: Sophia. This is my blood, but the next blood it tastes won’t be. It’ll be from that fucker Melgaard, or another enemy. It’ll drip with blood when—
“Dude, c’mere, will ya? Help me with my shoulder.”
Eddy joins Enrique in the bathroom.
“It’s not bleeding anymore, is it?”
Eddy pulls back the gauze the medics in the helicopter put over Enrique’s wound. The gash has clotted, but it hasn’t started to scab over yet. “No, not bleeding, but the bandage should stay on to keep it clean while it heals. It looks like it’ll turn into a sweet scar.”
Enrique shakes his head. “Speaking of, check out my leg; It’s pretty gnarly.” He turns and peels the bandage away from his thigh. The medics had cut away a section of his pants so they could apply the bandage, and now the wound looks like a bullseye. There’s an outer field of jeans, then normal skin, then burned and blistered flesh, then a charred, black center.
Eddy grimaces. “Holy shnikeys… What do you think would be best? Cut out the burn?”
He shrugs. “I mean, we are in a hospital. I was going to let them figure it out.”
Eddy nods. “Yeah…” His eyes flash open. “There may not be any knights or other squires here. We should check in on the elders.”
“Oh, right. Hey, hold that bandage while I take off my shirt, then put it back on me will ya?”
“’Course, hold still.”
After a couple minutes, they’re both changed, Enrique sets his broken arm back into the sling, and they’re out of their room and looking for the elders. Eddy notices Nurse Jacqueline in the hall up ahead, looking at a clipboard. “Nurse?”
“Yes?”
“The elders from the Pentagon, what’s their status? Where are they?”
“Well, I can tell you that every one of them should recover. They’re in rooms all through this wing. Is there anyone in particular you’d like to see?”
Eddy glances at Enrique and shrugs, then he looks back to the nurse. “Are there any knights or squires here? Or just the elders?”
“Only elders, as far as I know, and well…the girl that came in with you.”
Eddy freezes. Do I go see her?
“She’s alone in 1447, but I don’t think you should go there just yet.”
Enrique watches the nurse, then looks at Eddy. Give him time…
Eddy takes a breath and responds with short, reluctant nods. “Okay… Well, we should check in with someone. Can you bring us to Mary, umm, Ms. Wollstone?”
The nurse cocks her head to the side. “I don’t believe High Councilor Wollstone is under our care. Was she also at the Pentagon?”
Enrique takes a step forward. “She was in pretty rough shape. I think she was mercy-lifted.”
The nurse shakes her head and purses her lips. “You were the first casualties from the Pentagon to arrive by emergency helicopter. Perhaps she was brought to another hospital.”
Eddy shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe. Well what about Prime Minister Zaman? We need to check in with someone in charge.”
She shifts her weight and moves her hand with the clipboard to her hip. “The prime minister is definitely not here. Are you trying to waste my ti
me?”
Eddy shakes his head. “Definitely not, ma’am. Umm, he was also badly injured.” He turns to Enrique. What’s going on?
Enrique stays focused on the nurse. “Can you bring us to anyone on the High Council?”
Jacqueline starts to open her mouth, but Eddy cuts back in. “Just not Mr. Simonsen, he hates our family.” Eddy bites his lip.
The nurse shakes her head and huffs. “Look, across the hall is High Councilor Villablino. Go bother him, if you must.” She walks off.
Enrique leans over to Eddy. “Dude, what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know.”
At the quarantine in DC, the units making up the LAZoR System are about to fire their first shots. On buildings nearby, each team—responsible for groups of eight of the automated turrets—has set up command and surveillance posts.
Corporal Clyde Wilson looks out over the edge of the roof where he and his two specialists are set up. At the far end of North Capitol Street is the Capitol Building, and on the street below him, LAZoR unit LG6-8. He notices movement far down the street, and he lifts a pair of binoculars to investigate. “Heads up! Civilians approaching!”
The other two members of his team look up from laptops.
Coming into view, there’s just one civilian at first, a twentysomething guy lucky enough to be wearing running shoes and healthy enough to maintain a fast clip. But behind him, a much bigger crowd of civilians. And behind them, the zombies.
Clyde drops the binoculars. “Fuck. They’re trapped.” He looks down at LG6-8. The red lights on top spin, and the warning message blasts. An orange LED flickers, meaning the targeting system is assessing targets. Clyde holds his hands to the side of his mouth to direct his yell, “Divert to the side! Climb something! Don’t enter the red zone!”
The guy running ignores both him and the warning message that plays on repeat. The defocused lasers paint a swath of red on the ground marking the edge of the kill zone.
Clyde shouts with all his might, “STOP!”
The guy doesn’t. Seconds later, his right foot steps into the kill zone, and in his full-tilt sprint, the bullet rips through his head before his left foot falls.
Clyde closes his eyes and grimaces. Goddamn it!
The civilians that follow behind, scream. No one in the front of the group can just stop; they’d be trampled. Instead, they peel off and try and run to the side, but they collide and fall. People trip over them. Some get up and try to find another option for escape: an alley to run in, a lamp post to climb, something or anything to get them out of harm’s way.
They scatter, and zombies chase every single one of them. People climb, hoping they’ll be safe, but the zombies climb right up behind them. Zombies sink their teeth into the ankles and calves of terrified people who weren’t fast enough.
And now, other LAZoR units are firing.
Clyde looks down at LG6-8, and then down M Street NW to LG6-7, and further on to the rest of his group. They’re all firing. The noise that lifts up to the rooftop collects together into a surround-sound of gunfire, like a great string of firecrackers lit together.
LG6-8 is now continually firing. Bullet after bullet, precisely aimed at the center of a moving target’s head. One per target. One hundred targets tracked per second, per unit. The entire perimeter of units networked with optic signals to make the whole as efficient in its hot-lead dispensing job as possible.
Bodies pile at the edge of the kill zone. Clyde turns away and sits down, and he closes his eyes. He can shut out the sight, but not the tremor that he feels with every gunshot report that greets his ears. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.
Skip sprints back to the cafeteria then blasts through the doors.
Chaperones and kids look up and see his horrified face.
“Quick! Block the doors!” He grabs a table nearby and drags it in front of the door he came through—the one Jambavan kicked open. Other vampire chaperones are up in a flash and barricading the only other door to the hallway. Skip grabs another table and starts dragging it, then someone gets the other end and helps him lift the table up, swing it upside down, and set it on top of the first table.
Jambavan rushes out of the kitchen. “What’s happened?”
Skip puts a hand on the table, pressing it against the door, and he looks at Lance, the large vampire man who helped him. “Keep the doors blocked!” He lets go, and Lance pushes against the table. Skip runs to check the other door, and it’s also barricaded well.
Jambavan is behind Skip, and he grabs him by the shoulder. “Zombies?”
Skip nods. “Looked like a lot were coming.”
The children have stayed quiet during this commotion, but their calm doesn’t last. They hear people screaming upstairs, and they get scared and scream too.
Jambavan releases Skip’s shoulder and jumps on top of a table. “Shhh! Quiet everyone, stay very quiet.”
Skip runs over and finds Minnie. He picks her up. “Shhh. Stay calm.” He swallows, then his eyes flash wide with concern. Please still be in my pocket! He reaches his free hand around and slips it into his back pocket. Good… If you’re watching, Monica, we could use a little help.
It takes a few seconds for the kids to settle down, and their quiet lasts for about one additional second. A zombie smashes against a door, and its growling face greets everyone through the window. Kids greet it back with shrieks.
Now there are more zombies trying to get in, and they’re at both doors. Chaperones lean against the tables and keep the doors shut, but the constant banging works on everyone’s nerves.
Korina holds her side as she walks out of the kitchen. Frank and Katlyn rush out behind her. Katlyn squirms under Korina’s arm and helps her to stand.
“Thanks.” Korina looks at Jambavan and sighs. “Looks like we’re going to make our stand.”
Skip jogs over to her while still holding a shaking Minnie. “What’s the plan?”
Jambavan responds with a curt nod. “We hold them off.”
“That’s the plan?”
Korina glares at him. “Unless you want to go reason with them.”
Skip shakes his head. “Sorry, I just… I mean, y’all are…you know. Can’t you just, I don’t know, tear them into pieces?”
Korina grumbles. “My squire and I are knights. Everyone else here isn’t. Many of the ‘you-know’ here, haven’t seen any combat, ever. And for every adult, there’s almost two kids. Did you forget that?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I guess I just got used to being around Charlie.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “You should also realize that some you-knows are stronger than others.”
Skip swallows. “Oh.” I guess we’re screwed then. He looks away, casting his eyes down the wall of exhibits. He furrows his brow, then a new idea strikes him. “Wait, maybe there’s a way out of here.”
Korina glances around the room to the non-exits everywhere. She sighs and looks at him, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt that maybe he has an idea that isn’t terrible. “I’m all ears.”
Skip motions for her to follow him, and he leads Korina—with Katlyn helping her walk—over to the paper model of the Smithsonian Institution Building. He shifts Minnie and points at the photo of Richard Rathbun. “It looks like when they made this building, they dug a utility tunnel from the Smithsonian castle. I guess initially they shared utilities between the two buildings, and maybe they still do.” He shifts his body and stands more directly in front of Korina. “We’re at the bottom level, right? The kitchen is right behind us, and along one wall in there is a bunch of pipes. Think about it; if you’re connecting utilities to a house, you probably want to bring them in as close as you can to where they’ll be needed. Kitchens are on top of that list.”
Katlyn, still helping Korina to stand, looks at Skip with hopeful eyes.
He notices, but he tries not to look into them.
Korina scowls. “We should stay as close to the bus as we can for a rescue.�
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-Thud!-
Skip motions toward the sound of zombies banging on the doors. “If we last for a rescue, which may or may not be coming any time soon.”
Korina turns to the doors, wincing in the process. Vampire chaperones lean against tables that block them. They’re holding, but for how long? Once the hinges go, the doors will fall… How long until a rescue can get to us? I was supposed to be the rescue… Korina turns back to Skip and shrugs. “It sounds like a long shot, but maybe it’s at least an option. And who knows—” She motions to the paper model in the display case in front of her. “Maybe the castle will be a better place to batten down.”
Skip looks at Katlyn and smiles. Then he puts his serious face back on for Korina. “I’ll start looking for the tunnel. Get everyone ready to move?”
Korina nods and steps out and away from Katlyn’s support. She turns and yells over the noise of the zombies banging on the doors and the chaos upstairs, “Door guards, hold your ground! Jambavan, ready our supplies to move! And keep an eye on the doors! Frank, take over for Katlyn and ready the group! Katlyn, collect your improvised incendiaries! Skip—” She pivots to look at him, keeping her pain to herself as she does. “Find this tunnel, if it still exists.”
Unlike lower-frequency radio waves, microwave transmissions must be directed to a receiving antenna. While many omnidirectional radio signals near the Marx generators are being jammed, the higher-frequency microwave signals are not affected. These transmission systems have a significant bandwidth for carrying data and are most commonly used on news production vehicles to transmit video whenever they are “on location” to studios. The technology can also be used to carry telephone-like conversations, as opposed to one-way-at-a-time radio conversations. On the rooftop of the FAA building near L’Enfant Plaza, the system is being set up to network with the Pentagon Field Command Center and to carry voice signals.
General James Roland Riley, Commander of the Joint Zombie Defenses and now calling the shots in DC, has dubbed his FAA rooftop location the Downtown Command Post. Once communication is established with the Pentagon Field Command Center, General Riley sends Captain Rickman and the Gold Tops away.