Zombie Factor

by Timothy Stelly Sr

  “He’s telling the truth,” Grace said. “Now are you going to help us get the hell outta here or what?”

  Cruz looked at Mixon with pleading eyes. “Maybe we should hole up with these people. They’re organized and we’ll all have added protection.”

  “We can’t abandon our post,” Mixon said with finality. “Who knows, we may be all the city has left.”

  Cash scoffed at his words. “And you don’t find that frightening?”

  “We’ve got a job to do,” Mixon said irritably.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Grace asked. She pointed toward her house. “My babies are in there!”

  “There’s what, a dozen of you in there?” Mixon reminded her. “You sound like you’re equipped to at least make it ‘til sunrise. If so, we’ll coma back for you. By then we should know exactly what’s going on.”

  “We don’t have much ammo,” Cash said.

  “We’ll bring you a shotgun,” Cruz said. She looked at her partner. “The one left behind in Hobbs’ and McElroy’s car.”

  “We just can’t turn over police firearms to civilians.”

  “We’ll be in the area all night, and we can get the gun back in the morning.”

  “It’s against protocol.”

  “Fuck protocol.”

  Cash stepped to Mixon. “Maybe there’s something else in the vehicle that we can use, like additional bullets. I have a thirty-eight in the house.”

  Mixon nodded hurriedly, wishing both Cash and his fellow officer would drop the subject. “Okay, okay. We’ll do what we can.”

  Mixon kept his word, only when he returned it was with a partially-filled box of shells, Valerie met him at the door. She thanked him and closed the door, knowing it was going to be a long night. The scream that she heard in the distance punctuated the point.

  ***

  Midnight (Friday)

  Pederson checked into a motel in central Antioch. While a half-dozen men patrolled the parking lot and nearby streets, Pederson retired to his room, where he planned to be incommunicado until daybreak. Outside of his men, the only other person aware of his location was his private driver, whom Pederson rewarded with a room of his own. The Admiral wanted to make sure he had an air-tight story for the media onrush that was certain to come by daybreak. The KGO news report had planted those seeds firmly in his mind and he needed something more substantive than “No comment.”

  The Admiral stripped and took a swig from a bottle of Jim Beam, but nothing washed away the fact his decisions were directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of at least 65 people, including some under his command. He was also liable for the involuntary commitment of more than three dozen innocent bystanders. He moved to the shower and ran the water as hot as he could stand it. After he toweled off he felt all the more woeful and worn down.

  ***

  12:12 a.m.

  Dennis Curl took a deep breath. “Alpha-two to Alpha one.”

  “Go ahead Alpha-two.”

  For the past seven years Dennis had shown his loyalty to Admiral Pederson, now he was being forced to betray him, lest his own family perish. He’d received the threat via text and knew it was one to take serious, as the only person who knew the Admiral’s private number other than he and Pederson, was the membership of the Joints Chief of Staff and their CIA contact Percy Benton.

  Curl spoke into the phone with slight quivers in his voice. “The target and I are at the Centre Towne Inn, Antioch, California, One-four-four-eight Kensington Boulevard.”

  “Room numbers.”

  “I’m in room two-eleven, and two-thirteen belongs to the target.”

  “Is target active?”

  “Just got out of the shower.”

  “Coordinates.”

  “We are on the east side of the property facing Highway Four.”

  “What side of the room is the telephone on?”

  “From the shooter’s p.o.v. it would be the south corner, where the window is staggered.”

  “Ring target’s phone at twelve-twenty. At twelve twenty-two, you will assist gophers with sanitation disposal. When garbage disposal is confirmed, your family will no longer be under surveillance. Report back to me, so that you can be debriefed.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  ***

  12:14 a.m.

  “Those cops could have taken the kids outta here,” Valerie said.

  “My babies are safer here with me,” Grace said matter-of-factly.

  “There’s at least six more hours before daylight,” Valerie said, her voice laden with solemnity.

  Ned stared at her with pure disgust. “You’re just a regular old gloom peddler, ain’tcha? Can’t you see you’re scaring the shit outta these kids?”

  “I’m just keeping it real.”

  “Yeah, real dumb,” Ned snapped. “You don’t like it here, get-ta stepping.”

  “Who the hell are you to throw someone out of a house that isn’t yours?” Noodles asked. “An unarmed woman, at that?”

  “Mind your own business. This is grown folks’ conversation,” Ned said shaking his finger.

  “This is my business. We coulda let your funky ass sit over in your apartment and get torn apart, so consider yourself a guest here!”

  “Youngsta, you better find out who you’re popping off at!”

  “Whatchoo gonna do old man, besides talk tough?”

  “Shut the fuck up before I kick both of your goony asses,” Cash said. “We’re all guests here and we have an obligation to protect each other.”

  “For real, though.” Roy smiled and gave Cash a fist bump.

  Ned rolled his eyes at Valerie. “Bitch, you need to keep your mouth shut!!”

  “You need to watch your mouth around my daughters,” Grace warned, “Or there’s gonna be some shit up in here that’ll make what’s going on outside look like a party at Thirty-One Twenty-One.”

  The room fell silent, because Grace was holding Bob Goodman’s double-barrel shotgun, and it was known among them that she was a woman who had no affinity for guns, and as the saying goes, when pushed, it’s the quiet ones who become most dangerous.

  T H I R T E E N

  12:18 a.m.

  The Admiral felt resigned to the fact of a court martial that was likely to strip him of his rank and render him dishonorably discharged. A once stellar military career would be reduced to ashes. He took a slug of Jim Beam, aware of the risks he’d been saddled with the moment he signed on for the job: become either a hero or the fall guy for a “lone wolf maneuver.” The saddest truth was that even if the program ended up a failure, no one involved expected it to be botched in such spectacular fashion,

  “Fuck a duck!”

  Pederson chuckled at the use of the expression. The last time he’d used it was in junior high school. His moment of levity vanished the moment the phone rang, and it rang twice more before he worked up the nerve to pick up.

  “Hello?”

  His salutation was followed by the sound of glass being penetrated by a wind-resistant bullet that struck true. Pederson was dead before either he or the phone hit the floor. Within five minutes, Curl and four other men entered the room, wrapped Pederson and all the bedding in one large heap and carried it out to a military vehicle waiting behind the restaurant next door to the motel.

  When they finished, one of the soldiers shot Curl in the face, then tossed his lifeless body atop the rest of the “garbage.”

  ***

  1 a.m.

  Benton, Greenbaum, and Crossfield assembled for another roundtable and the lack of sleep left everyone feeling befouled. Bags under their eyes looked more like cloth granny purses; and the lines etched in their in their faces resembled furrows in a dry riverbed.

  Benton began the meeting by reminding them, “SR-Seven is an unmitigated disaster. Both the President and Speaker of the House have been briefed and the President wants it taken care of with as little fanfare as possible. Such a scenario isn’t likely, but I didn’t tel
l him that.”

  “What about the rain?” Greenbaum asked.

  Benton wrung his hands and looked like a man who was being coerced into a confession at gunpoint. “The storm pushed the chemical at least 26 miles eastward and we’ve had another report of a zombie attack, this one in an unincorporated area called Bay Point. Witnesses say some sort of crazed beast with s broken neck dragged a fishermen from a pier into the water.”

  “What’s being done to combat these outbreaks?”

  “All local police departments within that perimeter have been advised to shoot on sight all suspicious individuals who are bleeding and, or unresponsive to direct commands.”

  “So a black man who’s hard of hearing doesn’t stand a chance,” Crossfield said under his breath. “What I want to know is, where the hell is Pederson?”

  “Pederson is dead.” There was no hint of emotion in Benton’s voice.

  “And if someone should ask, why was he killed?”

  “No one will ask.”

  “That figures.”

  “General, this chemical program of his was done without the authorization of the United States Government. His funding was provided by the Chinese.”

  “And we, the U.S. military, let this man do this under our noses?” Crossfield shook his head. “You think the American people will buy such a story?”

  “The average American is gullible, paranoid and believes that our government will do all it can to protect them. They also believe that government agencies are rife with spies and traitors. They’ll see Pederson as just another rotten apple in a vast barrel.”

  “The media will dig.”

  “There is no paperwork that will link Pederson to us. The story is that he suspected he was being watched, destroyed all of his paperwork and took his own life.”

  “What about people he worked with?” Greenbaum asked.

  “The dozen workers included five soldiers. They were killed yesterday morning. The others were scientists, three of whom were flown out of the country. They were compensated quite generously for their cooperation. Unfortunately, three others had to be put down.”

  “So it sounds like your asses are covered.” Olivia Greenbaum’s eyes burned like fire.

  “What have you done?” Crossfield sounded as if he was about to cry.

  “My agency ordered street cleaning and the EPA to examine the water runoff to local sewers. We’ve also asked for and were granted access by the State of California to local water supplies and took samples for analysis.”

  “Any unusual findings?”

  “Preliminary results indicate minute traces of the chemical in Lafayette Reservoir, twenty-one miles from ground zero. The scientists we spoke to before flying them out of the country thought it wasn’t enough to trigger any unusual behaviors in humans or animals.”

  “That’s the first bit of good news we’ve had all evening,” Benton said. “That and the fact National Guard troops are in Pittsburg patrolling the downtown area.”

  Greenbaum’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Reports of violence. The Police force there has been sent to Antioch to help secure the crash site and evacuate those who live along the waterfront. Their communications, however, have been compromised.”

  “By whom?”

  “We’re trying to find that out.”

  “You’re full of more shit than a Christmas turkey!”

  Despite Greenbaum’s harsh retort Benton leaned back in his chair and appeared relaxed. “The old saying ‘No news is good news’ definitely applies here. Even with witnesses going on TV crowing about what they saw, they’ll come off like hillbillies talking about the time they were abducted by aliens.”

  Greenbaum hated to be the downer of the group, but Benton left her no choice. “What about the people at the rapid transit station? There will be dozens of missing person’s reports.”

  “And we’ll make sure that’s all they ever become, missing persons, if not urban legends.”

  “This won’t stay quiet for long. The area’s Congressional Representatives are going to call for a hearing.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Octavia. General Crossfield and I have everything under control. We included you in our discussion only as a professional courtesy.”

  “I detest the fact that you two represent what is America’s first line of defense against terrorism.”

  “You think we’re incompetent?” Benton asked.

  “I think the biggest threat to America is men like you. You know, if it’s ever proven that America faked the nine-eleven attacks, I’d be willing to bet that it’s got your fingerprints all over it.”

  His posture became rigid and his face turned such a deep shade of red Greenbaum thought he might have a cardiac event.

  “Listen bitch, I was fighting wars for years while stuck-up, liberals like you attended Harvard and got your precious degrees! A lot of good that paper will do if this country comes under attack. But it won’t, and you know who’s keeping it that way?” Benton waited for a verbal response, but all he got was an eyeful of Greenbaum’s painted, upturned lips. “Men like me, who are willing to do anything to preserve the incomparable might of the United States of America!”

  Greenbaum began to clap. “Bravo, Mister R and D man. That speech, however, was utter bullshit. Your hands might be the dirtiest in this mess. I don’t believe for a minute that you were initially left out of the loop. If so, why are you now suddenly privy to such top secret information?”

  “Don’t try and twist this around!”

  Greenbaum laughed. “You don’t sound like much of a protector of America to me.”

  Benton took a deep breath, clasped his hands and calmly replied, “I don’t care what you think. That chemical was designed to benefit our brave men and women on the battlefield! How dare you mock them.”

  Crossfield attempted to play peacemaker. “I think we all have serious work ahead of us, so maybe we need to take a break and reconvene at, say three a.m.?”

  “Fine by me,” Greenbaum answered.

  “Perhaps by that time you’ll be finished bleeding,” Benton snapped.

  ***

  1:11 a.m.

  A still peeved Ned decided to put some distance between him and Valerie, so he made peace with Noodles and joined him keeping watch at the back door. Their space was lighted by three candles burned halfway down. There was no need for worry as Ned had several more in his duffel bag. Noodles suggested the possibility of going back to the apartment for food, batteries and a twelve-pack of energy drinks.

  “It will keep us alert,” he argued.

  “I’m game. We can get your cousin to watch our backs,” Ned answered.

  “I was thinking we might wait a little while longer, you know, until we’re sure things have calmed down.”

  Ned looked at his wristwatch. “We haven’t come under attack in almost an hour.”

  “Still, I’d feel better if we waited a little while longer, like maybe when the sun starts to comes up.”

  ***

  Grace joined Duke and Valerie in the hallway. They used the lantern to light the hallway not only so the three of them could see, but for anyone needing to go to the bathroom.

  “Things are quiet, but that worries me more than the attacks did. At least then you knew what was up, but now…” Grace leaned against the wall. “You just don’t know what to expect.”

  “All we gotta do is hang tough ‘til morning, then bounce up outta here,” Duke said.

  “What about your aunt and uncle?”

  Duke shrugged. “They’ll find us.”

  Feeling stressed, Grace went back to her room. The children, including Tanisha, lay across her king-size bed, with Tanisha squeezed in between their feet and the footboard. Grace felt pity for the girl, who was now officially her daughter. Over the past five years the youngster spent so much time with Grace and her children that Sherry, Tayshun and Devin considered her an older sibling. She slept at Grace’s hous
e two or three nights a week and ate dinner with them on a daily basis.

  While she never had a typical relationship with her mother, there was no doubt that Tanisha loved Carmen. She’d told Grace on more than one occasion that she prayed that something would jar her mother to her senses. In return, Grace never once told Tanisha through action or insinuation that she was better off without her. Carmen Winslow had once been just like Grace, hardworking and attentive to the needs of her child. One job loss, thugged out boyfriend, and a few thousand hits of the pipe later, she had become as much a zombie as the thing that attacked and killed her.

  Carmen never begrudged Grace for the love that her daughter showed her, because Grace represented the one thing she no longer wanted to be. Carmen dedicated her life to crack and would do anything for a hit. Her movie star good looks were history; now her face was sucked in and every other tooth AWOL.

  Tanisha had no other relatives who lived nearby, so if they lived to see better days, Grace would simply move the girl’s things in and send Pamela’s monthly welfare checks back to the Employment and Human Services Department.

  Grace rubbed Tanisha’s back and the child moaned in her sleep. Come hell or high water, this child is going to be taken care of. She’s going to make it and not as a ward of the state of California.

  ***

  Roy and Cash stood on different sides of the front window and pondered what the silence meant. The worry lines in their faces were illuminated by the low-wattage of the milk jug-flashlight combo.

  “I don’t think we should hold out hope of those cops coming back,” Roy said. “If they do, we might want to be outta here by then.”

  “They won’t be back. They devalue our lives because of what we are and where we live.”

  Cash’s cell phone vibrated several times earlier in the evening but he never bothered to answer. He knew what was happening beyond the walls of Grace’s apartment merited his complete focus. It rang again, only this time he checked the caller ID and saw Claudia’s number light up the grid. He let the message center pick up, then waited a minute before he dialed it and listened to Claudia’s rant: