Fanmer saw the pity in his eyes. Pity mixed with much more. He nodded for him to continue.
“Every person who gets bit, turns into one of those things and attacks others. You call them what you will. I call them zombies, the walking dead. The only way to kill them is a bullet to the head. Either that or taking their head off. A bullet is a hell of a lot quicker.”
Fanmer nodded in agreement. “You got them all?”
“We mopped up a while back. Still, we are scouring the area to be sure. Now you tell me, what is our President going to do about this?”
“I told you I couldn’t reach him,” said Fanmer. Denied access inflamed him, turning his cheeks red. He would not be cut out and as he thought, with a discovery like this, he held all the cards. He smiled. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I plan to deliver the news in person. You have the rest of the day to catalog all the bodies. Tomorrow, I want them burned.”
Fanmer swiftly turned and left. He took great pleasure at being the one holding the power and leaving the victim with his mouth hanging.
“Of course,” said Moore, to an empty room.
On his way to the Jeep to retrieve a laptop, Fanmer had a thought. He pulled out his laptop and connected via satellite. A screen popped up, showing an elderly man behind a desk. “Yes?”
“It’s me, sir, Fanmer.”
“I’m not blind,” he scolded.
“Forgive my ignorance, sir.” Fanmer slightly bowed to show his sincerity. “I have something for you.”
The man sat straighter. “You have my undivided attention.”
“Sir, I’m at National Guard headquarters in the North Carolina Mountains. A plague of some kind has been released with devastating consequences.”
A broad grin spans the man’s face as he moves closer to his screen. “How devastating?”
“Similar to something released in one of the tribal villages back in ‘61. Only this has a changing quality. The infected are mindless and devour others to live.”
“That’s classified information. How did you . . . never mind, Fanmer. I doubt if a weasel like you would tell the truth either way. What is the incubation time?”
“Unknown at the present time. My guess, hours.”
The man’s face broadened more. He was so close to his screen, Fanmer saw every wrinkle, every pimple, and every pore on his face. What great delight. Finally, he would cash in. The years of biting his tongue and personal humiliations would come to an end. To keep from losing it now, he kept his face blank, staring at the man as if it didn’t matter.
“What are you doing with the bodies?”
“Cataloging and tagging. They will be burned in the morning.”
“No!” the scream was visceral.
“It’s part of a cover-up by President Reilly, sir.”
“Screw Reilly, he’s an asshole and you know it. Besides, I need samples for my research. Take a body. No! Three! I have a facility in the caves of Missouri. We will hide them there. Adjust the paperwork accordingly. I’m sending the address to your phone.”
“Sir?”
The man pushed a button and Fanmer’s screen went blank. A second later, his phone vibrated. Fanmer saw an address and a number with enough zeros to choke a horse. He smiled with delight. When your ship comes in, be ready to sail. He sent a message back saying three bodies would leave tonight.
Later that night, two men carried a black, body bag between them to a black van. Behind them, came two more carrying a bag between them. Another two followed, their bag shifted. The lead soldier’s hands shook.
“Come on, Bill, get with it,” said the soldier who held the other end of the bag.
“Sorry, it’s getting to me, man.” He set his end down and wiped his brow.
“Pick up your end so we can get this last one on the van. I’ll be nice; you can sit up front with Coleman. Come on.”
The young man reached for the bag and stopped, believing he saw movement. He kicked the bag but saw no reaction. His partner chuckled. “Cut it out, man.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Come on, man, let’s get this over with.”
The young man reached again, quickly grabbing the bag, and rushing to the back of the van. All entered the back, except young Bill. He secured the rear doors, opened the passenger door, and sat with the driver. The van rolled slowly down the street without headlights.
The next morning, soldiers rushed to pile the remaining bodies and bits on top of a pile of gasoline-drenched firewood. All was set afire.
Pierce, Jodi, Moore, and the rest gathered to watch them burn. Once the flames died, the new soldiers helped them carry out desks, pictures, rugs and other items they believed contaminated. All burned on the pile. Again, they stood and watched, relieved their nightmare ended.
Tammy stood to the side, clutching Wilbur while watching Fanmer. The sight of the young girl watching him made him nervous. He wondered if she had been awake and saw her mother loaded with the other women into the van. Believing himself safe, he readied to retire to the community building with his laptop. Next on the agenda, update his associates and check his hidden bank accounts. But first, he addressed the crowd.
“May I have your attention? By Presidential Order, these grounds are under one-week quarantine. No one is to leave this immediate area. These guards will patrol the perimeter. Anyone trying to leave will be shot on sight. This is a contamination zone. You will wait here for the contamination unit which will arrive in two days. Once you have been cleared, you are free to go. Agent Newmont is in charge. He is under Presidential orders and duty bound to carry them out. Wait until you have the ‘all clear’ before leaving.” He stopped and looked at each person. “Have a pleasant stay.” With that, he left for the community center, longing to count his money.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Reilly
Reilly couldn’t believe his misfortune. He couldn’t make it to the Oval Office, his office, without running into whining stalkers in the hallway. He put up his plastic smile and braced for the problematic chatter that would chill his bones. “Good morning, First Lady, oh, forgive me, Ms. Connors.” He gave a pleasant smile and slight bow before kissing her hand in high praise.
Her eyes were not the tear-filled sockets he imagined. She spread her lips in a thin smile and nodded. “I wanted to catch you before you began your day.”
He chuckled lightly, wondering why she wasn’t at Number One Observatory Circle, being humble.
“What on Earth may I have the honor of doing for you? Madam, I mean, Ms. Connors.” Reilly took great pleasure letting her know she no longer held the title. It bothered him to see her taking it so well, he would have to hit harder, he thought.
“I need my husband’s body. With all the resources at your disposal, such a minor thing can be done overnight, quite possibly.”
Her smile was pristine as she stared with piercing gray eyes into Reilly.
Reilly shook, internally. He took her hand again and with the charm of a snake trainer, kissed her thinning hand while in a light bow. False humility was not unheard of, just not becoming of a man of his station. This would be the last of it she would see. She had better like it and go away.
“I shall give the order at once. Before the week is out, you shall have your slain husband’s remains.”
With another bow, he quickly extricated himself from her clutches in a dash for the sanctuary of his Oval Office.
Reilly made it past his secretary and to long, sought after peace. With a sigh of relief, he walked to and sat behind his large desk. Every time he ran his hand across the desk, he found it hard to believe he was President of the United States. Often, dreams remain dreams, but for once in his life, the outlandish dream had manifested itself into reality. His hand caressed the top of the oak desk. The texture was something he found sensual, a contrast to the ancient desk he had been given as Vice President. Even now, he cursed James Connors for the mockery.
A knock came from the door.
“Yes?” he said.
A chill came over him. “Show him in.”
Reilly waddled from behind the big desk and walked across the rug with the President’s seal on it. He thought he should change it, it belonging to the previous president. He was president and his office should reflect that fact with only his tastes. He extended a hand to the man, knowing, Janis, his secretary, would not close the door until then.
“Mr. President.”
“What brings you by, Fred?”
They sat on the brown couch, pleasantly smiling at each other.
“Not everyone believes terrorist assassins, the BLP, are in the mountains or are to blame for President Connors’ demise. Can I get a comment as to these rumors, Mr. President?” he gave a casual glance.
Reilly didn’t like the man or his glance. He knew the man to be no better than all reporting scum he had to placate. This one was slightly more powerful and would require a delicate hand. Still, he could easily outwit the fool, seeing he had little to match him with. Reilly put on the public face he assumed with ease over the last thirty-odd years. It took great effort to control his face to seem passive. His bulky frame didn’t allow for too passive of a position. He cleared his throat. “The Bridgewood Liberation Party has always been a plague in our sides. We finally have the means to put them away and I intend to do just that. America is now safer, stronger, and has vanquished another enemy.”
Keenly opened a notepad he pulled from his pocket. “I’m told your office was contacted by a Mr. Roseland and Mr. Peeks regarding a mountain expedition to retrieve President Connors’ remains. Has the White House commented on their expedition?”
“You know I can’t go into details about ongoing missions.”
“So. It is a mission?”
“Very clever,” said Reilly, with disdain in his eye.
“Off the record, sir?”
“The White House doesn’t comment on such things. I’m sorry to be brash, but I have a meeting to prepare for. I’m sure you are well aware of its focus.”
“Indeed, Mr. President. I will let you prepare.”
President Reilly escorted the man to the door, eyeing him up and down. What nerve he had, he will let me prepare. When they reached the door, Reilly had resumed his gracious smile and with a shaking of his hand, bid the man farewell in good fashion. He returned to his desk to ponder the day’s revelations.
From his conversations with Keenly, Connors, and previously, with Fanmer, Reilly had to reopen the mountain. He smiled at the deliciousness of his emerging plan. He would recover the body of President Connors, but not for his doodling wife or the others. He would gather worship from the masses for his heroism. He would be elevated so high he would ride out the remainder of the term and sweep the next election in a landslide. At the same time, he would plant evidence gathered from the BLP raid to seal their fate. Yes, going to the mountain would be the answer.
Another brilliant thought tantalized him. He would personally lead the team into the mountain. The thought of cameras snapping as he carried the limp body of Connors to his widow. Yes, that would be the ticket! Reilly’s face brimmed with excitement, eagerness. How could one man be as fortunate as he?
With the gods smiling down on him, he exited the room to make his grand plans. Though he had plans to rid himself of the man, Fanmer would be his next stop. He was a useful lacky and when he needed him, the scoundrel was more than willing to lick his boots in an effort to gain his approval. Reilly’s smile widened as he reveled in his control of those beneath him. Many times they had lorded themselves over him and now, they were his subjects, his playthings to do with as he wished. The power he held was intoxicating.
Not too far from the Oval Office he found privacy. From the outside, he entered what looked to be a normal closet that held linens. Anyone opening the door would instantly close it out of embarrassment for entering the wrong room, a perfect cover. Reilly walked to the far right and pulled a hidden lever built into the side of the long wooden shelf. The portrait of President Connors, a fitting exile, slid down to reveal a hand scanner. Once he placed his palm to the machine, it glowed red and then a small door opened to its left. Reilly slid his large frame through the narrow fitting and emerged into a large communication room.
He marveled at his ingenuity. He regarded himself as the first competent president to outwit all surveillance and shaft local media. After fortuitous gloating, he waddled across the floor thinking it needed the Presidential seal. Everywhere he walked should don his Holy seal. He came to a mahogany desk emblazoned with his family crest on its top and centered on each drawer. Running his hand across the etched insignia produced a gruesome smile. Admiring his desk wasn’t thrilling enough, he needed more. Reilly ran his fingers along the seal on the top drawer then closed his eyes in ecstasy. He was home. He was powerful. At last, the ruler of the Free World.
Reilly swiveled in his chair to his left to face a computer screen. Flicking a button, it sprang to life. The image of a weary Fanmer came into focus.
“Mr. President?”
“Fanmer. Where are we on this notion of yours?” his grim features made his point clear.
“It’s more than a notion, Mr. President. We have burned dozens of bodies, most whole,” he said to emphasize his point.
President Reilly rolled his eyes in an obvious manner. Fanmer was filth, another loose end to tie up in time. “Put it in your report.”
“Sir?”
“Enough!” the redness in his face was clear. He would hear no more foolishness of zombies. Preposterous! Did the man take him for a fool? He was ruler of the Free World. The nonsense that spouted from the lips of a dead man meant nothing to him. It validated his earlier decision: Fanmer had outlived his usefulness.
Fanmer’s face distorted over the screen. Reilly wondered if perhaps it was the monitor. No. It was the man he realized.
“As you wish, Mr. President.”
“Good, we are finally in agreement.” Reilly leaned his bulky frame closer to the screen to appear more intimidating. “Get your team together. We are reopening the mountain.”
“For what purpose?”
Reilly’s face reddened. He collected his thoughts, restraining himself. His voice came out soft and pleasant, to his delight. “We are going to recover my predecessor’s body. We can’t very well have a State funeral without a body, can we?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Expect me shortly. I want the opening blast saved for the accompanying press core.”
“We have citizens under house arrest here, sir.”
“I know that, Fanmer. Keep them out of sight until the cameras leave. Then, dispose of them, quietly. Are we clear?”
“Sir?”
Reilly moved so close to the screen, he must appear a blur. “Are-we-clear?”
“Clear, sir,” said Fanmer.
“Get to it and I don’t want to hear any of your whining. When I arrive, I expect everything to go smoothly or heads will roll.”
“Yes—”
President Reilly ended the communication to keep from hearing another of Fanmer’s incessant whines. Moments later, he turned the device back on and made other clandestine calls before exiting the room for a scheduled press briefing.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Brittany
Brittany worked her downtown St. Louis bar for close to a year. A coworker made a drink nicknamed “scorcher” and kept the recipe a secret. A man down on his luck came in and found her drinks irresistible. He proposed marriage that night. Alice laughed at him and agreed to one drink. Over the course of months she fell in love and he popped the question again. Before asking, he iced the cake by revealing himself to be heir to a publishing dynasty. Tonight, Alice shared her news by announcing she quit.
After an impromptu party, Brittany said goodnight to her coworkers. She was over the moon. A friend, her best friend and coworker, found her Prince Charming. Most women that
work in the sex industry, even on the fringes, like them, lowered their value as marriage material. Hooters was a decent place to work. The tips were great and often made the difference between making rent and being thrown out on your ear. To find a Prince Charming in this environment required divine assistance. That’s what it had to be, thought Brittany.
Brittany let the memories of the night play again in her mind as she walked to her car. She had no ‘knight in shining armor’ to rescue her. Her comfort for this night would be the white purse with long spaghetti strap she hung around her neck. It was packed with healthy tips and tonight she was on her way to the store for a tub of ice cream. “Way to go, Alice. Sorry Prince Charming, Ben and Jerry's is rescuing this damsel tonight.”
The St. Louis air was cool this night. She shuddered. Goose bumps dotted her skin as she made her way through the dozens of cars. Old Faithful was parked in the rear of the lot. Brittany had a key alarm installed on the old Chevy Malibu. When near her car, she aimed her keys and pressed the button. She heard the faithful sound and then the headlights came on to guide her.
Without a care in the world, she reached for the door to open it. A swooshing sound, as if a strong wind, came from behind her. She fell forward against the car door and a wave of excruciating pain took hold of her. Something hard, maybe wood, hit the side of her head and she crumpled to the ground.
“Whoo! Yeah, baby!”
Dazed, Brittany shook her head furiously while her assailant gloated. Before he could get to her, she sprang away from him. She ran as fast as her legs would allow. She had to get away from the man, only she was running away from the club, toward darkness. A mistake the pounding of her heart would not allow her to register.
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