This Plague of Days, Season Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Serial)

by Robert Chazz Chute

  “Mrs. Spencer.”

  “Well, folks, there are dogs that detect seizures before they happen. There are dogs that detect cancer early, by smell. Or, at least, we think it’s an odor they detect. It seems your son has a similar talent that we need to fight this thing.”

  Theo whispered in his son’s ear. “Can you fight the surveillance state and officious doctors, Jaimie?”

  Jaimie almost smiled. Quoth was a great word, but he liked the feel of officious. Officious…of fishes…of vicious. Of vicious fishes.

  Merritt sat back in his chair, eyes darting. “I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with you people. The demands of my position…well…” He reached under his desk, poked around a moment and came up with a pint of fresh, red cherries. He placed them on the desk and invited the Spencers to eat with a wave of his hand. “You won’t get that in the mess tent, so I suggest you indulge while you can.”

  Jack sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “No, thanks.With all those people down there eating MREs, I wouldn’t feel good about that.”

  Jaimie nearly knocked his mother over as he pounced on the box of cherries and stalked back to the window to eat alone.

  Jack sighed and blew hair out of her eyes.

  Merritt smiled. “Smart boy. Your son intrigues me. How often does he speak?”

  “It’s sporadic and in his own time. He works on his own clock that only matches up with normal when he wants it to. Even then, unless you love Latin phrases or confusing detours, I don’t think you’ll find Jaimie is all that employable.”

  “You should know, I want to use Jaimie for a very good cause.”

  “If you’re looking to persuade me, Dr. Merritt, don’t use the word ‘use’ in any context that involves my son.”

  Jaimie chewed the cherries one at a time. They were delicious. The way they felt in his mouth reminded the boy of words that had the same tart, yet sweet, taste under a smooth exterior: Magna cum laude, toxicity, foxglove and hemlock.

  “Your son did something amazing last night, Mrs. Spencer. It’s something we can’t replicate yet. Of the five refugees Jaimie identified, four of them came down with the flu overnight. I’m still waiting on test results, but chances are excellent he identified carriers of Sutr-X.”

  “And the fifth person?”

  “That’s an interesting detail. The one who still seems healthy is the youngest. The child has no signs or symptoms, but we have him in isolation and we’re watching him carefully. One of the variables that has stymied us in tackling the plague is that it doesn’t have a predictable timeline. Early in the outbreak, the timeline could be as long as weeks since known exposure.”

  “But you’re saying it’s different now?” Anna asked.

  Merritt’s jaw fell slack and, for a moment, he lost his self-possession. “I’ll ask for your discretion in this matter. We don’t want panic, but our observations seem to show that the infected are displaying symptoms of the virus faster than earlier presentations. The elasticity of onset is significantly reduced.”

  He took in their blank stares and tried again. “The young Hispanic man your son first picked out is already dead. Jaimie could be critical to combatting this crisis and keeping us safe as we work the problem. This is where we make our stand. There are very few labs that are still functional. If I fail, it’s likely an extinction-level event. How’s it feel to know your boy is a key component to saving the human race?”

  Jaimie, who had been squirrelling cherry pits in his cheek, had run out of room. He spit the pits into his palm and scanned the room for a garbage can. Seeing none, he dropped them on the thick carpet. He stepped on the pits to hide them. He reasoned that the carpeting was so deep, it would hide the pits. He grabbed more cherries and ate.

  “What about the child who isn’t sick?”

  “We’ll watch him. Given Jaimie’s performance, I’m betting that kid’s temperature will shoot up any moment now.” Merritt smiled and his eyes shone. “I don’t know how your son can pick them, but I’ll let him deal with the magic and I’ll stick with the science. We’ll be a great team.”

  “We only came here to tell the military about a man named Lieutenant Carron,” Jack said. “I think he might hunt us. He’s a very dangerous — ”

  Merritt waved her off. “You can report your concerns to Ogilvy on your way out. That’s no concern of mine.”

  The virologist caught Jack’s look and softened a moment. “Pardon me, Mrs. Spencer. Sometimes…I’m under a lot of strain.”

  “Everybody’s under a lot of strain,” Anna said.

  Merritt nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m sure you’ve weathered a lot to get here. However, you must understand, I have a responsibility. I’m working on the big picture. I understand you feel like prisoners.” He shrugged. “Let’s not sugarcoat it. You are prisoners. I need you. I’m fighting a war and your son is drafted.”

  “Was there an act of Congress I missed while we were running from a maniac militia?” Theo stared at him.

  “No mother wants her son drafted, but…I need him.”

  “Necessitas non habet legem!” Jaimie said.

  Merritt’s head whipped around. “What did he say?”

  Jack and Anna shrugged, but Theo answered, “Jaimie’s quoting the Latin proverb ‘Necessity has no law’ but not because he agrees with you. To quote Paradise Lost, ‘So spake the Fiend, and with necessitie, The Tyrant’s Plea, excus’d his devilish deeds.’ Milton understood men like you, Dr. Merritt.”

  Merritt stepped closer to the boy, searching for something to say. He glanced down at Jaimie’s wrist bracelet. “Jaimie’s a little boy’s name, but your name is James. What does the A stand for in James A. Spencer?”

  “Augustus,” Jack said.

  “That’s a big name to live up to.”

  “Rome’s founder and first emperor,” Theo said. “And he’s selling you something, Jaimie. Don’t buy.”

  “James Augustus Spencer. Every war needs soldiers, James. I need you to help me. I need you to be a man now. Your family will be safe from this man, Carron, as long as you all stay here. I don’t know how you do it. Sensitive nose probably. Whatever allows you to detect the disease before the rest of us, you’re special. You’re a cannon in the battle against Sutr! Will you, James Augustus, be my cannon?”

  Jaimie glanced up. “Fodder.”

  The doctor went cold. He appeared to falter, as if his mind had gone blank for a moment. When he backed away from the boy, he grasped his senses and his anger. “Do you know the word necking, James? Not teenagers kissing. I mean the term as it is used in agriculture.”

  When Jaimie didn’t reply, Merritt turned his back and stalked to his desk. “I guess you don’t know everything, hm? On a farm, if you have a restless animal, you tie it to a tame one. From now on, you and your family will have a guard on you at all times. For your safety in the camp, of course. Your guard will escort you to the next hanging. Perhaps you’ll all feel more pliable once you see what happens to people who don’t line up with the common cause. I don’t have time for coddling you. Tell me, Mrs. Spencer, which of you is better at interpreting the boy’s outbursts? Which of you makes him more useful to me? For future reference.”

  The doctor’s last name, Jaimie decided, suggested worth. His character suggested otherwise.

  “Since the future of the human race is on the line,” Jack said quickly, “of course, we’ll try to get Jaimie to help in any way he can.”

  “Good!” the doctor replied without warmth. “We’ll call you when we need you.” Merritt’s face darkened further when he saw the mess Jaimie had made of his carpet.

  Theo squeezed his son’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry. Not a ghost of a chance your mother means it.”

  Jaimie gave the slightest of nods. He knew. Since the plague began, he had stopped counting his mother’s white lies. It made no sense to him to call them white lies, however. Jack’s lies were always jonquil yellow with touches of indigo
and mesclun green.

  His mother always lied out of fear. Everything everyone did now sprung from fear. Perhaps it had always been that way.

  SAME APPETITES, PLUS DANGEROUS SENTIENCE

  In the early morning hours, Desi got up to relieve Dayo of her duty at the front window. Aadi snored under the dining room table in his makeshift fort with Aasa and Aastha. Desi found Dayo huddled under a wool blanket, but looking alert.

  “I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

  “You sure? You should sleep.”

  “I’ve been pulling nightshifts for months at Harrods and getting paid with shortbread cookies. I’ll need to doze in a little bit but I’ll stay up a while and help you stay awake for your watch.”

  Desi pulled up a chair and took an end of the blanket to drape over his shoulders. “To share the warmth.”

  “After my swim, I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again. The memory of it chills me.”

  “That was pretty great, doing that for the girls. You’re a hero.”

  “She-ro.”

  The policeman chuckled. “How did you end up on a sailboat by the name of Shepherd of Myddvai?”

  “The dead dentist stole it so you’ll have to take it up with him, copper.”

  Desi chuckled louder and Dayo shushed him so he wouldn’t wake the Vermer family in their table fort.

  “I love the Garda,” Desi said. “I love the uniform. It’s slimming. But I don’t think I’ll be chasing after bad guys for quite some time. Maybe I’ll end up in Texas, become a sheriff and look after a tiny town. I’ll be the old man in No Country For Old Men.”

  “Loved that movie. I wonder how long it will take for people to make movies again? How long until we watch anorexic girls on a red carpet, thin as clothes hangers, answering the question, ‘Who are you wearing?’”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to put up with that for quite some time. We’ll have to go back to the old ways of entertaining ourselves. There won’t be any new books, but there are plenty of old ones to read.”

  “And we’ll tell stories around campfires,” Dayo said. “I don’t really know any stories, though.”

  “Funny, the dentist stole his boat from an Irishman. The Shepherd of Myddvai is a fairy tale really old people around here tell their grandchildren at bedtime. Most of the details are fuzzy to me. It has to do with three beautiful sisters walking out of a pond. Goddesses, actually. The shepherd passes some sort of test and gets to keep one of the goddesses for a wife.”

  “Do you think that’s what we’re doing now? Going through some sort of test?”

  “My town died around me. I think there was a test. We failed it and this is the punishment.”

  Dayo gathered the blanket tighter and put her head on Desi’s shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about punishments. Tell me the story about the shepherd.”

  “Not much to tell. She becomes his wife but there’s a catch.”

  “With gods and goddesses, there’s always a catch. Tell me.”

  Desi stared through the curtain, into the night, searching his memory for details as the first hint of the sun’s return lightened the sky almost imperceptibly. “The goddess said she’d stay with the shepherd as long as he never hit her. If he hits her three times, she’ll return to her sisters in the pond and take away the dowry of farm animals she brought with her.”

  “Sounds more than reasonable. I wouldn’t stay with a guy who hit me once.”

  “Yes, but the goddess had a very loose definition of hitting. He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention or something and she counts that for the first two times. I can’t remember those details, but the last time he grabs her shoulder roughly. I remember that part.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re at a funeral for a friend and the goddess won’t stop laughing. The shepherd’s upset she’s laughing at the grave of a dead friend. But the goddess takes the long view. She says she’s laughing because she’s happy for the dead friend. His mortal trials are over and now he finally has peace.”

  “That sounds like a luxury only immortals could appreciate.” Dayo raised her head, worry etching lines in her forehead. “Is that where we are, you think? Was it Khrushchev who said, ‘The living shall envy the dead’?”

  “No idea. Did he have anything to say about the zombie apocalypse?”

  Dayo smiled brightly and Desi found he had to smile back. “What does your name mean, Dayo?”

  “It means I bring happiness.”

  “I thought that the first time I saw you.”

  “The first time you saw me was day before yesterday, naked and almost dead.”

  “I focussed on the naked part.”

  “I know.”

  “Desi, do you think the doctor can really get us out of here?”

  “Why? Do you think he can’t?”

  “I don’t like him much. And he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. When I told him my theory about the spread of the virus, his eyes got big, as if his house cat stood up on its hind legs and started talking.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think that is? Because I’m a woman or because I’m black? Or is it because I’m fat? Or because I was a mere security guard.”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “All of the above.”

  “You — ”

  “Sorry, I thought you were asking an honest question.”

  “I was, but I guess I expected you to soften the soddin’ blow, copper. Besides, he underestimates us. Aadi’s got a degree in electrical engineering from the University of Mumbai. I was two credits short of my sociology degree when everything went pear shaped. Working security was all we could get when the economy rotted inside out. Just because we’re poor immigrants doesn’t mean we don’t read. On the nightshift at Harrods, reading’s all I did.”

  “Whatever the doctor’s prejudices, I’m sure he’ll get over them. We can’t afford bigotry anymore, can we?”

  “And you don’t have those worries,” she said.

  “Well…I’m not desperately fond of the English, but we need them, too, don’t we? Who will keep us in tea and call us a bunch of drooling colonials if we don’t keep the doctor around? At least until we get to America. Then the Yanks can look down on all of us.”

  She smiled again and punched him in the shoulder. “You know what I’m asking.”

  “I saw you naked. I’m looking forward to seeing you naked again.”

  “Do you think the helicopter will really come to rescue us along with him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the alternative is too awful.”

  She thought he might kiss her then. Desi’s lips were inches from hers.

  Something moved outside. She peered through the shade and saw a hunched, shuffling figure with wild hair. The front of the woman’s shirt ran black with blood. She came close enough to hear her animal growl. A zombie walked the streets of Dungarvan.

  Desi paled. “I didn’t think we’d see one of them for days, yet.”

  PERSUASIVE STREET PREACHERS’ EYES SHINE

  The little band of refugees stayed quiet and watched the infected wander the streets. At dawn, there were two. By noon, Desi had counted a dozen. At the back of the house, Aadi stood watch, searching the sky and straining his ears for the thrum of rotors. A school, the weeds already grown long, sat behind the house. That was the landing zone the Ciara’s skipper had promised to pass on to the rescue helo.

  By late afternoon, more packs arrived. These were young men whose heads were still shaved tight to their skulls. Their neck tattoos were identical. They wore green football uniforms Desi recognized as the Leesiders’ club colors from Cork. The men lifted their chins, sniffing the air and milling aimlessly. The wounds on their hands and arms — defensive wounds, Desi called them — could be readily seen. The men seemed oblivious to their bites and intent only on finding new victims. The zombies came and went until, just before nightfall, three ran down the middle of t
he street chasing a barking dog.

  Sinjin-Smythe whispered as he stood his watch, peering out the window. “Whatever Shiva thought she was going to accomplish, her plan can’t work.”

  When the doctor turned from the window, his smile was broad and assured. “Look at those things. They’re plenty dangerous and scary now, but how long can they last? They don’t feed on each other. I’ve been watching for hours and they’re dumb animals. Worse than dumb animals, maybe. They’d fight each other over a bone like wolves, but I don’t even see any hierarchy to their groups. They move in packs, but there’s no clear alpha to lead. They’re disorganized and there’s no strategy! They’re obviously good at spreading the virus and eager to bite, but after a victim is bitten…I don’t know. They seem to lose interest unless they’re in a feeding frenzy.”

  “I see one parallel with animal behavior,” Dayo said. “If you run, they chase you. Like wild dogs.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But I can’t see how they can last. They’re too erratic. At this rate, the world will be ours again in a week, maybe two…as long as we can deny them their meals.”

  Dayo shook her head. “So you’re saying that once they eat as many of us as they can find, their food supply will run out? They’ll starve to death and all we have to do is hide and wait for the inevitable?”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you know of the terrorists’ plans, doctor?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Excuse me,” Desi said, “but if you know nothing of their plans, how do you know this isn’t it?”

  Sinjin-Smythe turned back to the window and sulked.

  Three men in business suits shambled by. Their pants were ripped to expose pale, spindly legs. The one in the lead was missing his right cheek. He stopped, turned and appeared to look straight at the doctor, who shivered behind his peephole. The doctor could see the infected man’s teeth all the way back to his molars. The man’s mouth moved — open and closed, open and closed — as a thick line of venomous saliva drooled down his chin and to his chest. His black tie was still in a tight Windsor knot over a blood spattered linen shirt.