"And my tanks out of Fort Devens," chirped Bozeman.
Arkansas fell silent.
Rusk nodded, the twitch in his face gone. "Thank you, gentlemen. With your help, this operation will be a success."
Across the monitors there came a volley of applause and shouts of "Hooah!"
Polk
Part III
La Porte,
Texas.
This is ridiculous, Polk thought. She stared across the dining table at the brown, slightly wrinkled face of Doctor Ahuja whose attention was completely on his laptop monitor. Clicking away and prompting commands. Sensor were suctioned to the upper part of her amputated arm, on her collarbone, and at the base of her neck. Connected to the stump of her severed arm was something out of a science fiction movie, the Terminator or Metal Gear Solid.
"Okay, close your fist," Doctor Ahuja ordered, his gaze glued to the screen of his monitor.
Grumbling quietly, Polk squeezed her fingers together--or how she remembered how it felt to close her hand, the hand that had been part of her arm that had been turned into shreds of frayed meat years before in Iraq.
"Ashley, close your fist," the doctor repeated.
"I am. And don't call me Ashley--only my dad called me that and you are not him." Polk sneered, struggling still to make a fist.
"Close your eyes," Doctor Ahuja continued, not seeming to notice Polk's quip about her name. "Close your eyes and imagine your arm, as it was before the injury."
Hissing between her teeth Polk closed her eyes. As instructed, she visualized her arm before the IED, back when life was more or less normal; when she was more or less normal and closed her fist.
The doctor clapped, "Very good, Ashley, very good."
Polk looked down at the bionic limb, pretending to be unimpressed. "Whoop de doo, Doc. I don't see what the point in all this is. I mean, it looks pretty, and I appreciate the offer but how will this be useful in the field? The infected or some asshole with a gun isn't going to be waiting around for me to close and open my fist."
Doctor Ahuja kept typing. "What you have, Ashley, is not some wooden prothesis. This prototype is made of polycarbonate weaved with Kevlar and ceramic plating. What we're doing here is extracting important muscle tissue and nerve data. Once I can connect the signals, we will then merge them to the bionic limb, this will facilitate a flow of electrical signals between the limb and the brain, thereby alerting the limb of what to do."
Polk gazed at the bionic arm. "What?"
The doctor kept clicking away. "I think you will find that this new arm will work better than the old one," he looked up at her and smiled.
"Better?" Polk asked, squeezing another fist, this time with her eyes open, watching the skeletal-like fingers curling and uncurling as if it were her own hand.
He nodded, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight coming in from the kitchen window. "Now, this next part is going to hurt a little," he cautioned, clicking away on his keyboard. "But I promise any discomfort won't last long."
"What?" Polk said, looking at Doctor Ahuja.
With a final click, the doctor looked up, expecting something.
At first it tickled and then it burned.
"Damn! What the hell is this?" Polk demanded, clutching at her new arm. She stood, pushing away from the table.
"The prototype uses nanotechnology to fully adapt your nervous system to the device. Your neurons will link with the arm and create an artificial neural network that will be able to process data, from thought to movement and even sensation in a parallel method, making it possible to analyze and make decisions quickly. Give it a moment to fully synergize." Ahuja stared at his monitor.
Polk knelt from the table, clenching her teeth. The burning sensation worked through parts of her she thought long dead. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her stomach flexed, struggling to control her breathing.
And then it was over.
She stood, looking at her new self.
"I think that should do it. How do you feel?" the doctor asked.
Polk flexed and moved the new appendage. She'd seen other prosthetics--the ones the VA had given her had always looked clumpy and oddly shaped, deformed. This one however, fitted her perfectly and looked, if she didn't know any better, as if it were a real part of her body.
"Ashley Polk," she whispered, "cyborg."
Doctor Ahuja smiled, obviously pleased with his work.
***
"Damn, Polk, you're looking bad ass!" exclaimed Collins from the Jeep. Jelks was standing at the hood, turning from staring off down the street. The neighborhood was becoming more active by the hour. Some leaving. Some bunkering down. Some shouting. Some screaming. It was surreal to say the least. She had become so accustomed to the quiet smaller suburb of Shoreacres, she hadn't realized just how bad things had gotten. And in the setting sun--the prospect of night carried with it a foreboding of danger.
"Yeah, real bad ass. All I really need is a chainsaw, huh, wouldn't that be cool?" Polk smirked as she tossed her older spike prosthetic into her ACU bag.
"How does it feel?" Jelks asked, obviously curious. He kept staring at her new appendage.
"Weird. The nerves never die, they fall asleep and there are pains--or there were pains. I dunno, it's hard to explain. I feel..."
"Complete?" Jelks offered.
Polk shrugged. "Sort of. It doesn't feel bad, that's for certain."
"Well, it looks fucking awesome, I can tell you that." Collins lit up another smoke, taking a deep inhale and exhaling white fog.
"Excuse me?" Doctor Ahuja called from his front stoop. He trotted up to them, carrying a small suitcase and a messenger bag slung across his shoulder. "Would you mind if I tag along? I'd like to record how the device works in the field. It was designed for combat, as I've said. One of a kind. Any data I could collect would be invaluable."
Jelks looked from the doctor to the corpse on the lawn. "What about your sister? Don't you want to bury her or something?"
Doctor Ahuja glanced over his shoulder, his lite mood seemed to darken. "Yes," he whispered, "I would assume one of the disposal task forces will want to collect the remains. Either way, Aaradhya is in a better place now--better than we are, I would like to think."
Collins hopped down from the top of the Jeep and joined the others.
Jelks frowned, "Disposal task forces?"
"Units from the Texas Army National Guard, I'm told. 172nd, I believe. Or at least that's what I heard on the news. General Rusk is wasting no time in stabilizing the city. I heard Austin has all but been evacuated." Doctor Ahuja turned away from his sister.
"That so?" Jelks asked, his voice lowered.
"Shit--didn't think they'd get this far south," Collins said.
"Apparently, they are preparing Fort Hood for a mass of refugees escaping the outbreak, which is where I assumed you were all headed?" The doctor looked from Jelks to Polk to Collins and back to Jelks. "Am I mistaken?"
Jelks looked away. "Not exactly."
Doctor Ahuja looked mystified. "Really? Fort Hood would clearly be the most rational decision. The number of troops stationed there--checkpoints, it is no doubt the safest place."
Jelks laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing."
Ahuja frowned.
"What about you? You still want to find this Taj guy?" Jelks asked Polk.
Polk glanced back at the house where he was supposed to be. She looked at her new arm, easily flexing the fingers, rotating the wrist as if it were a real wrist. Feeling every movement and pressure.
"Taj? As in Taj Singh?" the doctor asked.
Polk looked at him. "Do you know him?"
"I knew his family--his father owned a couple of Shell gas stations. Very stereotypical, but nevertheless, he was a hard worker, solid provider for his family." Doctor Ahuja rolled on the balls of his feet.
"Do you know where they went? Taj in particular." Jelks asked.
Ahuja seemed to think for a moment, but he shook his head. "I
had heard some of the children were sick, I can now assume perhaps infected with this outbreak. But no, I have not seen them in some time--a few weeks at least."
"You must know something," Collins pressed.
"I'm sorry, I do not," the doctor yielded.
"He's gone, clothes were strewn about. Someone had come in and packed a couple of bags in a hurry. In the backyard I saw a couple bodies covered by blankets. He must have come home from the ER--after he had let his father kill my friend, and then found that the rest of his family had died and cleaned up. Or maybe he came home and was forced to kill them." Polk looked up into the sky and back down, she glanced at Jelks. "I'd say that was punishment enough." She exhaled, her shoulder felt lighter--her mind clearer, less clouded by rage and anger and guilt, though there was still a fair amount of that left in her.
Jelks nodded. "Well then, what now?"
"Can't stay around here--too much traffic," Collins said, looking around.
There was silence between them, and then finally Polk offered, "I have a safe place we can crash until we come up with a plan."
***
Despite being neighboring towns, Shoreacres was night and day compared to La Porte. On the main road, traffic had died out almost completely and there were only a few of those dead nasties shuffling around. Spread out and seemingly non-threatening. They parked the Jeep on the lot directly behind Jonny and Karen's place. In hushed movements, they trotted to the back fence, hopped over, and made their way across the vast backyard. Only weeks into the end of the world and the grass was already knee high. They gave the inground pool a wide birth. A couple of soggy bloated corpses with grey skin groaned lazily, unable for whatever reason of finding a way back to dry surface, white puss and saliva drooled from their open gnashing mouths.
Late evening had come, the sky was colored in dark red and purple hazy clouds.
Polk led the way on to the fenced AC unit to the roof of the porch to the far-left window. She tapped with the usual passcode and waited.
Collins had the rear and was already up on the roof waiting with the rest.
Polk glared through the window.
Karen should have shut the curtain.
She rapped with her knuckles again.
Nothing.
She glanced back at Jelks.
He shrugged.
She reached out and pushed against the window.
It opened.
Karen had not locked up behind her.
Feeling her guts knot up, Polk carefully eased into the upstairs den. The others followed her in, Collins sliding the window close and latching the lock.
Gazing at Karen's shut bedroom door, she said, "Go ahead and head downstairs while I check on my friend. I don't want her getting weirded out that I brought people over. We've got water and food in the pantry, help yourselves."
Collins headed down first with Doctor Ahuja close behind him.
Jelks hesitated by the stairs. "Everything okay?" he asked.
Polk nodded.
Without another word, he went down, and she was alone facing Karen's bedroom door. Holding her breath, Polk knocked gently.
"Karen?"
Nothing.
Sounds from downstairs drifted up, light hearted laughter. And yet, despite that warmth, she felt cold all over.
She knocked again. "Karen?"
Nothing.
"Karen, come on, stop fucking around!" Polk couldn't help the pang of panic in her voice. Her throat quivered. Horrible images swam in her mind's eye.
Still, Karen did not answer.
"I'm coming in, Karen."
Polk reached for the knob and turned.
The door opened, revealing a dark room.
"Karen?" she called to the form she thought she saw laying on the bed.
Turning on the light, Polk bit down on her knuckle to suppress a scream.
From the steps, Jelks called up. "Polk?"
Polk closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to breakdown into great terrible sobs. "I'm fine," she said through clenched teeth. "Everything is fine."
"Okay," Jelks answered, sounding a tad unconvinced.
Taking several deep breaths, her eyes still closed, Polk walked to her best friend's girlfriend's bed and sat down next to her motionless body. She took a few quick glances, terrified if she looked too long she wouldn't be able to stop the tears.
Karen lay under her covers, her head wrapped in a pillowcase. Polk wagered she'd done that to spare her the image of what the AR15 she'd left behind for her protection had done to her face. The rifle lay cockeyed to her side, one of her hands still touching the handle. Barrel facing forward. There was a single brass casing resting beside it. Despite the limited protection the pillowcase offered, she could still see the mess the exit wound had caused, painted on the headboard.
Polk finally forced herself to take a long look and then jerked her head away. Her hands went to her face. Pulling her left hand back, realizing how much of a reflex it had become, forgetting momentarily the bionic prosthetic. She gazed at the skeletal fingers--she had felt it, the moisture of the tears on her face.
Looking up, Polk glared at herself in the vanity--anger, rage, guilt--the old feelings rushing back in. What would Jonny say if he could see her now, having failed him so badly. And then she noticed the paper sitting next to Karen's hairbrush.
Ashley,
There's no hope left. I'll be at peace.
You had nothing to do with this.
My decision totally.
I am afraid, I am a coward.
I am sorry for everything.
You were Jonny's friend.
I should have treated you better.
But without my family.
Without Jonny.
I have seen too much.
Life has become unbearable for me...
Forgive me.
Karen signed her name. And that was that.
Polk held the suicide letter tighter in her hands.
The rage.
The anger.
The guilt--for Karen, for Jonny, for her arm, for wasting her life, for everything.
Standing suddenly, Polk screamed, tears streaking down her face. Shaking, she pulled back and punched the wall with her new arm. The impact shuddered the wall, exploding plaster and paint and wood. The whole house seemed to shudder.
Polk looked at her new limb, staring unblinking at the bionic hand. She looked at the wall, the damage was significant. She could see clearly into the bathroom on the other side through a fist sized hole of gnarled pieces of wood and plaster.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
"Polk?"
"Oh damn!"
Jelks and Collins stood in the doorway to Karen's room. Jelks was looking at her. Collins was looking at the corpse on the bed.
"What happened?" Jelks asked, glancing every second or so at the damaged wall.
"Suicide," Polk said coldly, without looking at them.
Jelks gazed over at the lifeless body. "I'm sorry--was she; were you two close?"
Polk balled up the note and tossed it away. "Not close enough."
"Excuse me, excuse me," Doctor Ahuja squeezed between Jelks and Collins. He carefully approached, glancing at Karen's body on the bed. He turned sideways, gazing exclusively at the hole in the wall. "You did this?" he asked matter-of-factly.
Polk nodded.
"Really?" his mood perked. "Let me see you," he snatched at her bionic arm, examining, tracing up to where polycarbonate became flesh.
"Okay, that's enough touching, Doc," Polk said, pulling her arm away.
"Fascinating," the doctor said, uncaring of her discomfort.
Jelks cleared his throat, "You want to bury her?"
Polk started for the doorway. The others moved out of the way. "No," she said at the top of the staircase, "I need a drink. Whiskey. Anyone care to join?"
Jelks and Collins looked at each other and shrugged.
Doctor Ahuja inched closer to look at the wal
l. "A drink does sound nice--after such a day with so much loss." He turned and smiled at them. "Yes, let's."
Amy Horrigan
Barry Farm,
Washington, DC.
Amy Horrigan had been a reporter for all of four months. Three months and several weeks of those were spent in relative normalcy, covering the latest iPhone upgrade or how Washington was dealing with so-called Fakebook, and self-driving Uber deals with Toyota. It was fluff. The stuff people read to keep their minds off the real horror show in the world--or in their lives. It was easier to worry about Hollywood releasing another remake than the constant bickering between a two-party system and a President (or should she say former President) who was completely inept at doing the job properly. Not that the new guy was doing much better. Great Presidents, according to Amy Horrigan of News Channel 8, did not drive a wedge even farther between political parties, but bridged the gaps. Being a peacemaker was completely opposite than being a peacekeeper. Peacekeeping implies violence; whereas, peacemaking implies cooperation and collaboration. And what she could see from outside her apartment window in Berry Farm, gazing out across the Anacostia River, was not what she would call peacemaking.
Running for her door, Amy snatched her phone and her bicycle helmet with her GoPro Steadicam, double checking to ensure she still had enough battery to do a live recording. Outside, she bounded down the stairs taking the steps two at a time, pulling down on the strap and securing her helmet. Sirens blared up and down the streets. F16s roared across the sky, or at least that's what they looked like, they sure weren't commercial airliners. She took a moment to collect what she was seeing and then started toward the river, passing Mamas Kitchen and Pizza. She felt silly, running around with her bike helmet on, but this was the easiest way to capture the warzone unfolding in front of her.
At the edge of the Anacostia, she gazed at the scene. Tapping her phone, she synced with the GoPro, then pulled up the News Channel 8 social media page and selected the Live Video option.
"Hello, this is Amy Horrigan with News Channel 8," Amy called out to the audience tuning into her live report. "I'm reporting live from 11th Street looking out across the Anacostia River. And as you can see, something major is happening on Capitol Hill."
Planet of the Dead (Book 2): War For The Planet of The Dead Page 10