“Unhand me, Bertram! This inst—”
Crossfield reached into his inside coat pocket and withdrew an ink pen. The pen had a silver, tapered tip. He raised it above his head and smiled as Benton’s face became frozen with terror. Crossfield drove the pen into Benton’s neck, and blood spurted over both of them. Crossfield raised the pen again, and as Benton leaned forward and clutched his neck, Crossfield stabbed him twice more in the back of his head and punctured his brain stem.
He slipped Benton’s derringer from his shin holster, held it down by his ankle and then pressed the button the armrest that signaled the driver. After the divider between the driver’s cab and the rear of the limo was lowered, Crossfield ordered the driver, “Pull over! I think Mister Benton is having a heart attack!”
The driver done as he was told and as he was about to reach for the radio to summon help, Crossfield shot him from point-blank range in the back of the head. Afterward Crossfield closed his eyes and mumbled, “God, please forgive me.”
The streets were dark, and the car sat on the side of the rode idling for several minutes before Crossfield climbed out and got behind the wheel. He shoved the dead limo driver to the floor and drove toward Benton’s three-story mansion in Alexandria, Virginia.
T H I R T Y – O N E
1:27 a.m.
Valerie and Cash engaged in a long-winded session of mad dog love, showered and basked in the afterglow. Her face was lighted by a swath of pale blue light breaking through the narrow openings in the blinds. She was a portrait of contentment with her leg draped over his waist and her arms around his neck.
“I’m thirsty Cash,” Valerie cooed.
Cash rolled over and caught a glimpse of the illuminated numerals on his watch. “I suppose you want me to walk to the soda machine.”
“That would be so sweet,”
“Knew I should have got something to drink before we came to the room.” His tone was playful as he swung his legs from under the blankets. “What kinda soda am I going to get?”
“Mister Pibb if they have it.”
Cash was pulling up his trousers. “And if not?”
“Mug will do fine,” Valerie said, sticking one finely sculpted leg from underneath the blanket. “Don’t worry, I promise to make it worth your while.”
Cash wrestled his way into a T-shirt and slipped on his shoes sans socks. He had yet to take a step when a shadow moved quickly in front of the window. Relying on instinct, he ducked and peered through the slats. He spotted two men, one of whom had a gun at his side, as they crept in the direction of Grace’s room.
“Hit two-three on the phone!” Cash said to Valerie. “That’s Grace’s room. Looks like someone’s going to try and break in on her!”
Valerie picked up the phone and hit the two digits. Cash grabbed his gun and the ax, setting the latter weapon by the door. He watched as the men walked up to Grace’s door and took a look around.
“No one’s answering Grace’s phone,” Valerie said.
“Then hit two-four and tell Roy to grab his gun, turn on his light and come to the door ready to fire.”
Cash cracked the door to his room and listened. He heard Abbas pound on Grace’s door and announce that he was “Room service,” while the other man crouched just below the window. Seconds later Cash heard the phone ring in Roy’s room.
Valerie issued her warning in staccato fashion. “Cash says there are two strangers outside your sister’s room. Hit your light, get your gun and be ready to shoot.”
Cash eased the door open. He saw Abbas knock again and say the words “Room service,” only louder. Abbas raised the gun as his partner rose from his crouch and prepared to kick in the door.
The light in Roy’s room flicked on and the man about to kick in the door, froze. At that moment Cash dashed from his room and fired off three shots. Two of the shots hit the wannabe door-breaker in the back. As he crumpled to the ground, Abbas, jumped behind a corner and exchanged gunfire with Cash. The screams of Grace and her children brought Roy to his door.
Cash called to him, “Behind you and around the corner!”
Roy ducked and crept Chuck Berry duck-walk style to the corner of the building. Abbas knew he was trapped, but was of the mentality that he couldn’t “go out like a punk.” He rushed into the open and squeezed off two wild shots before Roy fired a single shot that ripped off the back of his head.
Both Roy and Cash, who was now carrying his gun in his right hand and the ax in his left, walked over and stood over Abba. The drunken manager wobbled over as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.
He looked at the two bodies then at Cash. “When I saw ‘Pittsburg’ on your ID I knew you were a trouble maker!”
“How’d you like to join these wannabe gangsters?” Cash asked, stepping so close to the man that they were almost nose-to-nose. “I’m fixing to behead these dudes and set fire to them before they change up on us.”
“I’m going to call the po…” The manager watched as Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out several one hundred dollar bills.
“Here’s seven hundred dollars,” Roy spat. “That enough for you to keep your mouth shut?”
The man held out his hand and when Roy placed the bills in it, the man squeezed it tight. “You two burn these bodies, then get out and don’t come back.”
Cash looked at Roy. “What do you say?”
Roy looked at the manager. “You have a gas can?”
“I have some in a shed out back.”
“We’re going to need it.”
Cash looked at the Galaxy 500. “I saw them get out of that car. We’re going to take it outta here.”
“We won’t all fit,” Roy said.
The manager nodded. “I will sell you my car. That way you have two vehicles.”
“How much?” Roy asked.
“A thousand dollars.” He looked at an angry Cash. “The car is worth a thousand. Runs well, good on gas.”
“Go get the gas and your car keys.”
The manager turned and left. Grace and Valerie came over. Cash walked over to the Galaxy five hundred, opened the door and announced that the leys were in the ignition. “Valerie and I will take this car, along with the boys. Roy—you, Grace and the girls take the second car.”
Roy scowled and said loud enough for the manager to hear, “If this cat sells us a lemon, I’ma come back and put a hot one in his Grandpa Munster looking ass.”
Cash came over and put his hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Charge that thousand for the car to your credit card. We don’t want this asshole knowing how looted we are, in case he manages to put two and two together.”
“Where are we going?” Valerie asked.
“I say we go up to Lake Berryessa, crash for the night and tomorrow rent a cabin. We can take a few days to map out a plan of action.”
The manager came back with a gas can and driving a surprisingly well-maintained Ford Taurus. He got out and chucked the keys to Roy. “It’s a ninety-eight, but well kept. Only seventy thousand miles on it.”
“Got any booze?” Cash asked.
“I got a half-gallon of Wild Turkey that I been saving for a special occasion.”
“Fuck you and your special occasion. As much money as we shelled out, you can throw that in as a freebie.”
The manager went to his office and a couple of minutes passed before he returned with the bottle.
“Enjoy,” he said, handing the bottle to Cash.
***
For the next hour, bodies were burned, items were packed into the cars and finally the group of seven was ready to roll out. As Cash left out of the driveway, Roy followed closely behind. Unbeknownst to them and even the manager, the whore who had been at work in the other occupied room had laid back in the shadows, and she’d seen and heard everything.
What she didn’t hear was the motel manager when he crept into her room as she slept and slit her throat. Afterward he dragged her body outside and tossed it onto the pile of burned
flesh in the parking lot.
“Dead whores tell no tales.” He lit a new fire and then returned to his office.
***
Alexandria, Virginia
2:57 a.m. (5:57 a.m., EDT)
Crossfield gunned the limousine up the inclined driveway of Benton’s house. He closed his eyes and covered his face as he crashed through the three-car garage and took out Benton’s Jaguar. An airbag never detonated and a dazed Crossfield pushed himself out of the vehicle, bent over and popped the gas tank lever on the side of the seat.
He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it into the gas tank. He retracted his lighter from his jacket pocket, lit the cloth and looked around. He spotted a car battery in the corner of the garage, grabbed it and heaved it through the sliding door that led to the interior of Benton’s house. That act triggered an alarm, but Crossfield went about his business calmly, his mind focused on the task at hand.
He’d been to Benton’s house dozens of times and sprinted to both kitchens, one on the first floor and the other on the second. He turned on all the gas and then set fire to the curtains downstairs and the ones in Benton’s bedroom. Finally he lay across Benton’s bed, ready to go up with the house and his partner in crime.
It took but four minutes before neighbors were frightened awake by the explosion. By the time emergency vehicles made it up the narrow road and firefighters were in position to knock down the flames, all three stories of the Benton residence were engulfed by fire and the house began to implode.
At sunrise, investigators determined there were no survivors.
***
3:02 a.m. (PDT)
2800 miles away, a dozen creatures crashed through the door of the only lighted apartment in The Low, where a disoriented and drowsy Noodles tried to gain his bearings and find the shotgun he’d brought inside. He looked across the room and saw that his mother had the gun in hand, but she accepted her fate and offered no resistance as the beasts set upon her.
“Shoot ‘em, Mama! Shoot ‘em!”
He uttered nary another word, as several of the beasts overwhelmed him.
***
4:11 a.m.
At Lake Berryessa Cash and the others checked into their cabin, and as the kids slept on one side of the room, the adults gathered around a table with the bottle of Wild Turley and a can of Coca-Cola center stage. A TV newscast played in the background, but the sound had been muted.
Grace, who hardly ever drank, surprised everyone by filling half of a plastic cup with the brown liquid and drinking it straight.
“Guess this means I’m on babysitting duty tomorrow,” Roy said with a smile.
“Tanisha will see to it that the kids are fed,” Grace said. “We can sleep most of the day and leave here under cover of darkness before someone comes around asking questions.”
“I got a few of my own,” Valerie said. “I wonder how Jenny made out?”
“She said she had an uncle or somebody nearby. She’s probably at his place getting shit-faced as we speak,” Roy replied.
Cash chimed in. “Hope she don’t get to yammering.”
“She won’t.” Roy said the words with conviction.
“So tomorrow we head for Perris.” Cash said the words with a sense of wonderment. “From there…Hell, who knows what the coming days will bring.”
On the TV, the anchor was reading from the teleprompter, On the screen behind him were the words NATIONAL GUARD SHOOTING IN PITTSBURG.
EPILOGUE
Sunday, 9 a.m.
Travel restrictions were lifted along the California border, but a statewide curfew was still in effect according to the Governor, “Until further notice.”
The demise of the Pittsburg Police Department served as the top story on news stations from coast-to-coast. The deaths were attributed to a gas line explosion, and the roads between Pittsburg and Antioch were reopened. For twenty-four hours there were no more official reports of zombie attacks. Those who proclaimed to see such happenings became monologue fodder for late night talk show hosts. Other claims were derided as “elaborate hoaxes.”
The President worked the phones and called in favors. He promised earmarks to a number of Senators and Congressional Representatives to insure there would be no investigation regarding SR-7. At a news conference the Vice President chalked up stories in the New York Times, Washington Post and San Francisco Chronicle as “Out of control sensationalism rooted in Russian disinformation.” He called the citation of anonymous sources as proof.
The Canadian Prime Minister even got in on the charade and visited the White House for a photo op with President Dillon.
“Things couldn’t be better between our two countries,” the President crowed.
***
1:07 p.m.
CNN was the first news channel to break the story of Olivia Greenbaum’s battered and swollen body found in the grasslands on foreign soil. Her torso was covered in welts from leeches, insects and small animals that fed on her. The drug dealers who discovered her body were surprised when she whispered that she was a U.S. government official. Once her claim was verified via the internet, rather than trigger an international incident, the men delivered her to a hospital where representatives from the American embassy recorded her version of the events of the SR-7 debacle. Hours later she was flown back to the States.
Her recording was played before President Dillon and the members of the Democratic caucus. It was agreed that blame for “A chemical leak whose effects were overstated” would be laid at the hands of Benton, Crossfield and Pederson, who were in collaboration with “foreign operatives.” The chemical itself would be described as a nerve agent that had been developed offshore and the story would end with the lie that FBI and Homeland Security agents thwarted the plot and the parties involved chose to commit suicide rather than face prosecution.
Under a direct order from the President, Wayne Hollister at the State Department, Senator Wilson Burris, Head of the Armed Services Committee, Speaker of the House Elaine Fowler and Senate Majority Leader Harlan Reynolds, all Democrats, opted to bury the information while the CIA concocted a story about Olivia Greenbaum’s “kidnapping by terrorists during a diplomatic mission.”
Olivia Greenbaum died a day later. Her sons were called to Washington, offered a $40 million settlement and sent to Paris. The investigation of the family’s finances was dismissed and their assets returned.
***
10 a.m.
All commuters at the Concord rapid transit station, who’d been detained, were accounted for and returned home. None could recall the events that took place on the evening of their arrest. Tragically, within six months, seven of those individuals committed suicide. Most of the others experienced difficulty returning to work or resuming other aspects of their lives. No assistance from the government was forthcoming, for no one could prove who or what was at fault.
The one journalist from the Bay Area Guardian who did investigate disappeared and his body was found three weeks later in a drainage ditch in San Diego.
***
Monday, 7:45 a.m.
Jayson Owens waited a week before he went into Graham’s office at Pittsburg Community Bank and switched his altered DVD of the bank robbery with the one Graham had yet to turn over to the FBI. He destroyed the recording, but never told Roy or Cash. Jayson then requested an emergency leave from. Graham granted the request out of fear that Jayson might take legal action and assured him that the promotion to Assistant Manager was still on the table.
After two weeks Jayson resigned and took a similar job at a bank in Antioch.
***
Tuesday 12:16 p.m.,
Perris, California
Sitting on a pontoon on Lake Perris, Roy held onto a cane pole as the bobber danced atop the water. He sported a straw hat and sunglasses and was content to wait on something to nibble. Cash had his arm around Valerie’s waist as she sat on his lap. The two looked out at the brown hills in the distance, lost in what the oth
ers assumed was the same daydream.
Grace and the kids sat quietly and tossed bread crumbs to ducks and geese loitering in the tulles.
“Gotta job interview tomorrow,“ Roy announced.
For the moment, no one was interested…
***
1:47 p.m.
A herd of cows grazing on land along the Pittsburg-Antioch Highway, drank from a nearby creek. Two hours later, the cows broke through barbed-wire fencing and stampeded along the road, causing several accidents and startling the National Guardsmen patrolling the area and who were unable to corral them.
Mays ordered the beasts put down, beheaded, and set ablaze. A trio of drivers went to the media and declared they’d seen some of the shot cows rise run head on with other cars. The USDA took charge of the investigation and attributed the event to an outbreak of Mad Cow Disease and a needless beef recall followed.
***
Two months after the bank robbery, the FBI determined that the DVD the bank sent to them was “unusable” and the robbers of the Pittsburg Community Bank would probably never be caught. For Jayson, it was good news, and things brightened considerably when the board of directors terminated the contract of one, Wallace Patton Graham.
***
In a rare show of cooperation, journalists from the New York Times and the Washington Post, began to dig and by the time the evening news broadcasts aired, the names of several of the scientists connected to the SR-7 project were known. The joint story contained assertions that the two male and one female researcher, per Benton’s instructions, deliberately sold the Chinese a bogus formula. Unbeknownst to Pentagon officials, a “new and improved” version had already been developed.
Before the story went to Press, Editors from both papers contacted the White House. The President made a personal plea to both that they squash the story in the interest of national security, vowing such a weapon would never be used. After much debate the story was killed.
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