by M. Lorrox
One look at the streets around them, and they’d stop relaxing. Tens of thousands of uninfected civilians within the quarantine area hide or fight, and many are dying. The flow of zombies from the Pentagon has stopped, but ten thousand of those zombies made it into the metro tunnels, and most of those have made it out of the tunnels and into DC.
Some of those thousands from the Pentagon have infected thousands of others. Zombies that have already turned—or people that are about to.
The sign outside Felipe’s hackerspace garage flickers on. The sign’s white background is lit by fluorescent bulbs, and below the logo, the shop’s name, DC Wicked Wrenches, is lit by blue LEDs. The name was initially inspired by a bowling shirt, but instead of the sexy pinup that was the shirt’s logo, the garage’s logo is a Day of the Dead sugar skull above crossed wrenches.
Beside the sign, the tall bay door starts to churn open.
Felipe is farthest in the back, inside Tiny Tim. He watches the light spill into the shop. For a moment, he can’t see anything, but he can hear Rosie piloting Lynxie-Lou out and into the light.
Lynxie-Lou has two sets of triangular tank treads—just like those on small bulldozers and loaders. Rosie is inside a plexiglass cab, but she still wears a biohazard suit for extra protection. She pushes a lever, and a set of hydraulic arms lift a large bar up in front of the cab. Attached to the bar are a series of overlapping bush-hog blades that remain still—for the moment.
Inside, the dash is decorated with a dancing hula girl—named Louise, obviously. As Rosie steers the tank-treaded zombie mower out and to the side so that Kevin can bring The Edward out, her little dancing friend puts on a show.
The Edward was inspired by a crazy Japanese machine that a company started selling online a few years before the zombie outbreak for an arguably too-high price. Instead of buying it for its now insanely-high price, or buying any new components at all, the team used parts and pieces of other machines to build The Edward. It has four articulated legs, each with a powered wheel at the base. In this version, all the wheels turn independently, and the platform the articulated legs support is lowered by extending the legs out from center or lifted by bringing them in.
Above the legs sits a pod just like in the Japanese machine, but The Edward’s arms were inspired by another sort of creation. On either side of the cab Kevin is in are two three-axis hydraulic arms. The Edward’s right arm has an X shaped saw blade with hardened carbide tips. Its left arm has an automated trenching tool at its end—which looks like a 90’s-era mutant-chainsaw—that in more peaceful times tore through pavement.
Kevin pilots the machine out of the garage, away from Rosie, and leaves a gap in the middle for Felipe. He tests all axes of The Edward’s arms, the lateral rotation of the cab, and the individually powered wheels with an audience; a sticker of Neil deGrasse Tyson stuck onto the windshield exclaims via caption, “Badass over here!”
Just as Kevin finishes his tests, the friends’ latest invention in progress—dubiously nicknamed Tiny Tim—is piloted out of the garage by Felipe. When it exits, it does so on a motorized skid...and then it stands up. Felipe hasn’t gotten all the self-balancing programs and sensors working perfectly yet, so this biped has a pair of bars extending from the crotch of the machine to the ground, each with a wheel.
Yes, this fifteen-foot-tall exo-suit is still on training wheels.
Felipe’s arms and legs are strapped into a rig that translates any of his movements into the exo-suit’s movements—with a few exceptions. Microcontrollers, servos, hydraulics, and pneumatics help control the movement, but Tiny Tim’s six-foot-long strides are a little slower than Felipe would like.
Tiny Tim is tall, partly for awesomeness, and partly to keep the pilot out of harm’s way. To ensure that Tiny Tim can deftly destroy zombies at ground level, its steel hands resemble something between a crab’s claws and an eagle’s talons, and they stretch past its robotic knees.
Also, Tiny Tim has a set of sickle-tipped appendages just above the legs that can be controlled by the pilot’s feet, but these arm-like weapons are currently disengaged and folded up for transport. Felipe hits the button to release them from the holding clamps, and they swing down into position. He looks to his sides at his friends and their inventions, then he picks up his right foot and pulls the frame attached to his leg forward, and Tiny Tim takes a step.
One small step for man… Felipe leads his mech warriors south, toward the quarantine line on M Street North.
General Riley at the Downtown Command Post is getting an update from General Campbell. He taps his fingers one after the other—the way a centipede walks—at a breakneck pace while he listens to General Campbell carry on. “…and we now have three controlled breaches in the Pentagon’s outer walls. The men are busy, the cameras are rolling, and when we get reinforcements from Quantico, we can start pushing into the quarantine zone.”
General Riley nods. “Good. We got caught with our pants down, and we need to regain control as soon as possible. Remember the priorities: containment, communication, civilians. Do you have any updates on these damn signal jammers?”
“Yes, some good news, but it’s still early. The teams have identified an oddball frequency, and they’re triangulating on it. Soon, they’ll be searching the area identified for the device. After it’s found, it’ll create a dead-zone among the other jammers nearby. The specialists say that’ll make finding others faster and faster until we get them all.”
“Keep me informed. Riley out.”
“General, are you still there?”
He considers not answering, but he notices one of his engineers is nearby and looking at him. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“The president is being evacuated by HMX-1. I believe they’ll be surveying the quarantine zone before departing for Camp David.”
Great. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Thought you’d like to know, just in case you need to tidy anything up. That’s all.”
“Riley out.” Psssh. Tidy up? We’re at war—I’m not cleaning anything but zombie brains off my boots. He clears his throat and hands the receiver to the engineer. “Stay in contact with Pentagon Field Command. When the Gold Tops return, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Riley walks to the edge of the roof facing north. He looks between the Arts and Industries Building and the Hirschhorn Museum, over the National Mall to the National Gallery of Art’s Sculpture Garden. He raises the binoculars and watches as zombies stream between the colorful sculptures. He raises them further, to the National Archives Building. From the distance, the huge stone pillars look like toothpicks. He notices something moving on the roof: people. Survivors. Well at least they’re safe up there... Wait, that one’s running awfully fast. Oh fuck.
He watches as one person tackles into another near the edge of the building. As they struggle with each other, they roll over the edge and fall off the roof. Other people, or zombies, are also running onto the roof now. He drops the binoculars and searches for the marine that he had stay behind. He doesn’t see him anywhere. Where the hell is he? “Corporal Daniels!”
The general waits, then he raises his hands to his mouth to yell again. “Corp—”
Daniels is running from the south side of the roof. “Sir! What do you need, sir?” He’s still ten yards away.
General Riley snarls and waits. When the marine arrives, the general lets out a huff of air and grinds his feet on the ground. “I need you, WHEN I need you!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Having fun?”
“No. sir, I noticed the 50-cal. has stopped firing, and I was on the south side of the roof looking for soldiers on the ground, sir.”
Riley nods. “Alright, but check in with me before any other reconnaissance you take upon yourself. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. It’s clear, sir!”
“Good. Now I want you to check all access points to this roof from the building—I don’t want any Z sne
aking up on us. Mine the stairwells, seal the doors, whatever you need to do. We’ll helo out of here; we won’t need the stairs.”
“I could use a hand, sir, unless you need both your eggheads.” He notices the general flick an eyebrow up. “Engineers! Sorry, sir, if you could spare one, I could use the assistance.”
General Riley nods. “Fine, but if he blows himself up, I’m holding you responsible. Go get an egghead.”
Daniels smiles. “Yes, sir!” He runs over to the command post’s tent, and General Riley walks back to the northern edge of the roof. There’s a constant hum in the air from the 80 LAZoR units firing 5.56 NATO’s into skulls, but now, he also hears rotors in the distance. He turns toward the south lawn of the White House—the place that helicopters operated by Marine Helicopter Squadron One use as a heliport. Almost directly in his line of sight from the roof of the FAA to the south lawn is the Smithsonian Institution Building.
He looks through his binoculars. Yup, those are flames... A signal fire? He lowers the binoculars to the tall windows of the South Tower, and he sees movement inside. He drops the binoculars from his eyes and shakes his head. What a fucking mess, a goddamned worse-case scenario. His lip twitches as he brings the binoculars back up, and he looks to the tree line by the White House, waiting for the helicopter.
At the Pentagon, Wren Riggs struggles to maintain order with the group of reporters. The handcuffs she literally wore while in the back of the squad car mock the figurative pair she finds herself in now. Those earlier ones, at least, were like a badge of honor. Now, she’s chained as the press secretary to a group of rabid reporters, a bullseye for them to attack. “I repeat, I have no information on what these helicopters are carrying or where they’re going.”
Will Rogers of WNER News, emboldened by his recent success with intimidating Wren, throws his hands up. “You’re giving all of us scraps. We’re starving here; we need something meaty!”
“Look, I’m sorry. They booted me from the command tent, but I’ll see what I can dig up. I’ll report back at the next briefing.”
Rebecca Jones from American National News shakes her head. “This is bullshit. Twenty more minutes of sitting on our asses... We can only show so much of soldiers attacking the Pentagon, that was news an hour ago.”
Wren walks away from the reporters. She’s right; this is bullshit… She sniffs. I think it’s time I get back to doing some real news work.
She finds Captain Rojas, the Pentagon Force Protection Agency officer that gave her the get out of jail card in the form of a promotion to be the press secretary. “Sir, we have a problem.”
“That’s quite the understatement. What can I do to help?”
“What are all these helicopters doing? Can you get me back in the command tent?”
“You’ll have to talk to General Campbell. Everyone without clearance was asked to leave—they’re probably moving the president or something classified. I’m sorry, I’m not allowed in either.”
Wren shakes her head. “Okay, thank you anyway.” Captain Rojas hurries off as she turns away. I need a story, I can’t get anything here, and they’re not going to be begging me back in anytime soon. I need to do a field shoot, something to really connect with the audience... Should I ask to be relieved as the press secretary? Nah, I’ll get that bigmouth Will to take over.
She finds Will and gives him the good news. He laughs and refuses.
Damn.
She finds Rebecca and gives her the good news. She accepts. Thank god. Now to find a story. Wren looks around the sea of news trucks with their standard-equipment microwave transmitters extended high into the air and pointed toward their stations. Shit, National Daily doesn’t have a truck here. Maybe an indie can help.
She hunts for the awkward logo of a Frankensteined double-sided animal—an elephant and donkey—with a lightning bolt through the middle. She finds it stretched across the beer belly of a camera operator with a giant beard. Bingo. She walks up to his side and waits for him to acknowledge her—electronic news gathering etiquette 101.
He hits a button on the camera then turns to her. “Hey Wren, I love your work at NDN, and that bit from inside the cruiser earlier was awesome.”
“Thanks, what’s your name.”
“Jackson, Arlington Independent.”
“Jackson, would you like to have an adventure?”
He chuckles to himself. “Is there any other time?”
“Huh?” She scowls.
He turns off his camera. “Wren, I should like an adventure.” He smiles harder.
“Uh, good… Pack up. We’re leaving.”
When High Councilor Robert Flaxman walks into the bathroom, Tatsu presses himself into a doorframe in the busy hallway and waits. When Robert steps back into the hall, Tatsu rushes to him, grabs his arm, and pulls him down the hall, whispering, “Shhh, sir, we can’t talk here.”
Robert allows the senior guardsman to lead him around a corner, then he pulls his arm away. “What’s going on?”
Tatsu uses both hands to tell Robert to be quiet. “We have a mutual friend, and they’re waiting in a room.”
Robert raises his brow. “What are you talking about, I demand—”
Tatsu puts his hand up over Robert’s mouth in a flash. While Robert is startled, Tatsu slips a small electronic device and a thread of a wire behind the lapel of his suit coat. He mouths the words YOU’RE BUGGED. He slowly withdraws his hand from Robert’s mouth, then he reaches to Robert’s lapel and pulls out the device and thin wire.
Robert’s eyes steam. As he’s about to open his mouth, Tatsu steps past him. “We don’t have much time.” He hurries down the hall. When Robert doesn’t follow, he turns and waves. “Come on!”
Robert follows Tatsu out of the quarantine wing. When Tatsu reaches room 1503, he opens the door and motions Robert inside.
Robert huffs and walks into the doorway to the darkened room. The TV is on with the volume turned up with an action movie playing. At the room’s far side, blueish evening light spills in from a large window, and Robert can see someone’s silhouette as they sit on the bed. He reaches for the light switch, but before he touches it, he hears a raspy voice.
“Don’t.”
Robert squints. Who is that? He takes a step away from the door and into the room. When he’s inside, Tatsu closes the door behind him and clamps his hands down on the handle, keeping it latched. Robert turns and grabs the doorknob, but he can’t budge it. He lets go and turns back into the room. “Well, I guess you’re as surprised as I am about—”
The lights turn on. Prime Minister Zaman stands at the switch. “You guessed correct.” He grabs Robert and pulls him into the room.
“Hamid? You’re okay! This is great! Oooff!” A swift punch in the gut shuts him up, and Robert doubles over.
“Listen to me carefully, Robert. I hope we can have a nice little conversation, but every time you lie to me, I’ll know, and I’ll be angry.”
Robert stands back up, holding his stomach. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need information that you have. In a way, we’re going to conduct a trade. You give me what I need, and I let you keep your life.”
Robert shakes his head. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re—Ugh!” Hamid punches him in the stomach again.
“I’ve been watching you lie through your teeth to me for months—years maybe—but it was never a danger. Now, it is, and you will only tell the truth. I will know the second you lie, so if you desire to walk back out of this room, you will not try to lie to me.”
Robert stands up straight and smiles. “You can’t stop this—what’s happening—it’s too late. Everyone already thinks you’re missing; you should just disappear.”
Hamid smiles back. “You know Robert, I always liked you. Well, until you started lying to me.” He points at him. “But what you said right there, that was genuine. I’d like to think that you were giving me advice, like a trusted friend would… But you’re not a trusted friend
. Are you? So, thank you for the advice, but instead, I think I’ll interrogate you.”
Robert scoffs. “You’re not going to kill me. You have no power—”
Hamid raises a hand as if to strike him, and Robert flinches. Hamid laughs instead. “Don’t you see, you just proved it. I have an incredible power over you.” -Broof!- He strikes him. “Now, let’s start with something easy. Did Dr. Melgaard know what his vaccine would do to people? That it would turn them into zombies?”
Robert spits blood from his mouth upward at the taller vampire’s face. “Fuck you, Hamid, I’m not going to answer a single goddamned question of yours.”
Hamid wipes the blood off his face with his hand, then he licks his hand clean. “You just don’t understand Robert, you’re answering every one of my questions, you just do not realize it.” He grabs Robert by the shoulders and throws him into the room. Robert falls, and on the way down he looks for something he can use as a weapon.
“Trust me, there’s nothing in here that you could use to hurt me. Now, tell me, who else is working with you?”
Robert gets to his feet, but while he’s looking straight at Hamid, something grabs him around his ankles as his knees are pushed forward. He tumbles and lands hard on the ground. He turns and looks behind him, to see who just tripped him, but all he sees are sheets hanging from a hospital bed.
Hamid walks over and picks the overweight man up off the ground. Robert pulls his hand back and punches Hamid, who just takes the hit as he carries him to the bed and throws him down on it. “Did you know that the men in the ambulance—the ones who kidnapped me and drugged me—they used shipping straps to hold me down.”
Robert struggles, punching and kicking at Hamid, who doesn’t even flinch at the powerful strikes.
Hamid smacks Robert across the face, and his world spins. Then Robert feels his chest being squeezed tight and his knees being crushed into the bed. “Stop! Let me up immediately!”