by M. Lorrox
The guards are now running toward him.
“It’s a trick! They want to rid us from this country and take our lan—” A guard pulls the man down by his leg. He falls and smashes into the table, hitting his head along the seam in the middle.
A female guard hoists the unconscious man onto her shoulder and walks him out.
Charlie smiles and leans toward Skip. “Told ya.”
Eddy smiles. “Dad, these are Council Guards, right? You’re going to be their boss.”
He nods.
Skip looks at him. “What?”
Charlie turns to him and raises a hand, starts to talk, then stops and drops his hand. “It’s literally an extremely long story. It’ll have to wait.”
Mirabelle, who paused during the disturbance, clears her throat. “Please everyone, allow me to continue… The House of Elders has been called to assembly to engage in talks with the High Council and with the United States government.”
She pulls the microphone out of the stand and paces the stage. “You may have read those very facts in our official announcement, but there is more. I’m about to present information that until now has only been seen by the top officials in the U.S. government and by our own High Council. The public has not been informed of these discoveries yet. It is feared that if the public learns of them before success can be demonstrated in holding The Line, then chaos and panic would ensue.”
Eddy looks at June, but she just stares at the woman on the stage.
“First, the outbreak is somehow crossing the Pacific. There have been confirmed, and contained, isolated outbreaks in Asia, Polynesia, and in Australia.”
Many in the room murmur a variation of “how,” “oh-no,” or “lies.”
“It is currently unknown how this is happening, but international pressure on the United States to handle the zombies has increased. Many of the U.S.’s remaining trade partners are considering shuttering or highly restricting American trade operations.”
The room murmurs more quietly. No one among them imagines that to be a good thing.
Mirabelle paces the stage; the -click-slap- of her heels somehow seems to grow louder and louder with every second. “And I’m afraid, my friends, there is more. Scientists have made recent discoveries about the zombie virus that reveal a greater threat to the world. To discuss these findings, I’d like to turn the mic over to our own, Dr. Lars Melgaard, one of the world’s leading hematologists.”
A man gets up from one of the reserved tables and walks to the stage. When he enters the spotlights, his dirty-blonde hair radiates shades of gold and brown—much like a tiger’s-eye stone. Mirabelle hands him the microphone and takes a step back, to the side and behind. “Thank you, Mrs. Darien.”
Eddy leans over to Charlie and whispers. “What’s that accent?”
“Not sure, Nordic, maybe.”
The man stands an inch shorter than Mirabelle, but when he opens his coat to pull out some notecards, it’s clear by his tailored shirt that he’s built like a Rottweiler—strong in the upper body and supported by less impressive legs.
He clears his throat. “Good evening. I have some additional information that has just been verified, which has not been released to the public. I have prepared some slides. Michael, please start the presentation.”
The lights dim, and a projector’s lens is uncovered. It is aimed at the stage, focused on the wall behind the doctor. The first slide shows a warning, and the doctor reads it aloud. “The contents of this presentation are the top-secret property of the Department of Defense. Unauthorized duplication or presentation of this material is a federal offense.” He shrugs a shoulder. “They made me promise to read that. Next.”
Dr. Melgaard’s assistant, Michael Turner, advances the presentation to the next slide. It has another warning, but this one the doctor doesn’t read. It says, “Contains Graphic Images.”
“Next please.”
Michael advances the slideshow, and an image of an adult male zombie is projected. At first it appears to be standing, but it is actually strapped down on a sort of operating table and is photographed from above.
“The zombie infection has devastated the population of the United States, and it threatens the world. There have been zero examples of naturally occurring immunity among non-vampires. Study of the virus itself reveals how easily it infects the living cells and how quickly it spreads, using the host’s circulatory system as a highway to the brain.”
The next slide shows a close up of the same zombie but with the top of the skull removed, revealing the brain. The zombie’s face is locked in a growl; its teeth are clenched between cracked lips, its dull eyes are squinted, and its nostrils are flared. The exposed brain is streaked with dark brown striations amidst gray tissue. “The zombie brain retains little function of the frontal lobe, thereby stripping the zombie of most higher-level reason—note I said most—and certainly destroying all of the subject’s so-called humanity.”
The next slide is from the same camera angle, but now part of the brain has been removed. The zombie looks to be screaming, but it’s difficult to tell. The eyes are half shut, the mouth is agape, and the skin around it is tight and tense. “Removing the frontal lobe will limit the zombie’s ability navigate the environment, but it still retains an animalistic instinct and the primal drives of hunger.”
The presentation advances to a blank slide. Lars walks into the edge of the light. “The only classified portion of what you’ve seen so far is that we have been studying and dissecting zombies in our labs. I imagine many of you already knew all of what I just explained, either from news briefings or from first-hand experiences. The Chief Epidemiologist for the CDC forecasts that if the infection were to spread outside of North America, it could destroy as much as 95% of the world’s population. The remaining 5% could survive in self-sustaining, isolated communities.”
He pauses and sighs. “I wish that was the only concern we face.”
The slide changes to the too-familiar timeline that is now ingrained into every survivor’s mind: the stages of zombie infection. “We are all aware of the progression an individual goes through after infection. Note that the victim experiences an extreme fever that incapacitates them and renders them unconsciousness, after which they reanimate with—”
Someone in the audience yells out, “Go back to the lab, doc, we know this!”
Lars sighs, glaring into the audience. “I have just a few more slides, please be patient. Next please, Michael.”
The slide is labeled “Zombie Virus Models, 5mil x mag,” but the right side of the slide is blank. On the left side is a model of the infamous virus; a cube-like structure with slightly rounded edges and corners, with small, pointed protuberances from the faces of the cube. Underneath, the image is a label, “Z.E.D. 01.”
“Samples collected from the earliest infected individuals provided us with the face of our enemy. Here it is, labeled as Zombie Epidemic Day: zero one.”
The right side of the slide fades in, and it shows a similar model of the virus, labeled “Z.E.D. 60.”
“Here is another model of the virus, this sample was collected sixty days after the outbreak. Note that the vertices appear more rounded, and that the overall size of the virus is smaller. These images are to scale.”
The next slide again has the right side blank, but now the Z.E.D. 60 virus is on the left side. “And here is a sample we collected last week, from Nashville.” An image appears on the right side, and the audience lets out a murmur.
A different looking virus is revealed on the right side of the screen. There are many more of the protuberances, the overall size is smaller, and some of the projected structures are now curved.
Skip leans toward Charlie. “That means the virus is mutating, dramatically it seems. That can’t be good.”
Charlie isn’t surprised. He remembers that Mary had mentioned something about mutations the other day when she stayed over. He motions back toward the stage. Just wait till the punchl
ine, bud.
Lars continues. “You can clearly see how different this sample appears in comparison to the first ones. The virus itself is also significantly smaller; this sample is approximately 30% smaller by volume than the earliest sample.”
“Why does it say ‘beta sample?’” Someone shouts from the crowd.
Charlie looks at the slide. He hadn’t noticed the label.
“Michael, next.” When the image is projected a moment later, many in the crowd gasp. “We’ve collected five new, variant strains so far, each with different structures and characteristics.”
Eddy looks to Charlie, then to Skip. He whispers, “Is that bad?”
Skip nods.
“Next.” The slide advances to an image of a different zombie—technically female—strapped to a table and with part of its skull removed revealing the brain, like the image of the first zombie.
Eddy notices June breathing hard, and he pokes her. “Are you okay, June?”
She squints and studies the presentation, not responding to Eddy.
“This zombie provided the beta sample. Next please.” A side-by-side comparison shows the first zombie brain and the beta zombie’s brain. “Notice that the beta brain has less noticeable striations. We believe that it experienced a lower grade of fever during its maturation. We are certain, however, that the reduced striations correspond to a higher retention of frontal lobe activity.”
Charlie grumbles. Mary wasn’t kidding, this is bad.
“The zombies infected with the beta strain are showing increased problem solving skills, or I should say, they are showing less reduction in brain function.” He walks into the light from the projector, the beta zombie’s eye glaring out from the front of his shirt. “We believe that this is how the zombies are penetrating our defenses and why the infection continues to spread. We have been accustomed to the zombies acting like simple animals, while some, we are realizing, do not act this way. All these new samples, named beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, and zeta, were collected from zombies in Nashville. The beta sample was the only one taken alive. We don’t yet know if the other strains manifest similarly smarter zombies, but it is certain that this plague is more grave than we had previously thought.
“It is my hypothesis that the beta strain, and possibly the other new strains, have a lower-grade fever and a shorter timeline from infection to realized zombie. We are not sure how short the transition time is or how short it might become, but if indeed the process is accelerated, this also raises new threats.”
The doctor nods toward the projector and the image is cut off. The lights come back on in the ballroom. “Finally, and equally alarming, researchers have identified a carrier vector—perhaps the original source of the virus. Unfortunately, the vector is an extremely common species of duck—mallard, or wild-duck. We’ve tested all the strains we’ve identified to date on these ducks, and they can all be carried without manifesting symptoms. This creates a terrible problem for maintaining containment of these ever more dangerous viruses.
“The United States government is preparing that press release now—it might have been presented while I spoke. The resounding message is that people are to treat any duck as potentially infected, and to quote, act responsibly.”
Lars waits on the stage while the crowd absorbs the new information. When they do, there’s a flurry of activity near the front of the room and conversation everywhere.
Skip rubs his face. “That’s—” He looks at June, who is staring almost blankly into the distance, then to Charlie. “All of that’s really, really bad.”
Charlie looks straight into Skip’s eyes. “That’s why we’re here, Skip, that’s why they called us in.”
Skip is shocked and shakes his head back and forth. “You knew? ...This?”
“No, not really. We had clues about how bad it was, though.” He turns to the front of the room to see if he can spot Sadie. “Honestly, it’s worse than what we expected. A lot worse.”
Lars speaks again, more loudly into the microphone than before. “Everyone, please sit back down and remain calm. I have no additional information to present tonight, but Mrs. Darien does have additional—”
A man yells over the crowd, in a deep and bellowing voice. “What about a cure?”
The room falls silent.
Lars clenches his teeth and scowls into the crowd. “I believe…I said that I have no additional information to present.” He inhales loudly through his nostrils. “And if there was progress on a cure, I believe I’d have presented that. Thank you.” He turns and hands the microphone to Mirabelle.
“Thank you, Dr. Melgaard, thank you very much for your presentation.” She smiles as she sets the microphone back into the stand. Then, she claps her hands, and continues to clap until the audience has joined her. “Now, I do have some additional announcements. The House of Elders will be meeting tomorrow in closed sessions during the day—and likely every day this week—but there will be nightly briefings on the day’s discussions here in this room at seven o’clock each evening.”
She walks across the stage, her muscular legs highlighted by the stage lighting. “Tomorrow night, we will have a question and answer session hosted by members of the House of Elders, and on Wednesday evening, we will have a very special guest.” She turns and gestures with her free arm. “Prime Minister Zaman will address us, right here, two nights from now!”
“Whoa.” Eddy looks at Charlie, but he doesn’t find a reaction, so he turns to Skip. “Hamid Zaman is the Prime Minister of the Vampire Order, there’s nobody above him.”
“Oh, wow. So, you have a parliament?”
Eddy tilts his head. “Huh?”
Skip inhales, but Mirabelle starts to speak again. Skip whispers quickly, “Talk later.” He returns his attention to the stage.
“So, bring your questions tomorrow night, and join us with Prime Minister Zaman on Wednesday. Now, we will recess to the restaurant. Thank you all for your attention tonight.” She clicks off the microphone and walks off stage.
Many people around the room start to stand. Skip glances at Charlie, who frowns to himself.
June looks away from the stage for the first time since the event began. “I like that woman.”
Skip squints at June, then smiles at her. He turns to Eddy. “I was curious if your governing body had a parliament.”
“Uhh…”
“Usually that’s what’s associated with the title of prime minister.”
Eddy shrugs. “Well, beneath Zaman we have the High Council—there’s seven that sit on that. Beneath them is something like a congress, which we call the House of Elders. And there are elections every so often, but I think there are also some appointments.”
Skip smiles. You don’t really have a clue, do you? “Okay, thanks.”
Charlie is standing and looking for Sadie. He can’t find her. Damn.
Skip stands too and stretches his legs. “Everything alright, Charlie?”
He sighs. “I was just hoping to get out of here before I get dragged into some awkward conversation.”
“You don’t plan to head to the reception?”
Charlie scowls and plants his hands on his hips, emphasizing his sturdy proportions. “Not if my life depended on it.”
At the reception, Sadie stands tall and confident. As an old acquaintance ambles over, she softens her stature and smiles. “Stan, it’s so good to see you again. You remember my husband, Charlie?”
“I most certainly do. How could I forget the man of legend?”
Charlie forces a smile at the short, infamous, and incredulous man. “It’s good to see you too, SB.” Charlie sends his wife a devious look, then he returns to Stan. “Write any new vampire trash?”
Sadie’s eyes grow wide, and she is about to interject a joke when Stan laughs.
“Yes! Oh, thank you for calling it what it is. That last series of nonsense was so much fun to make! My great-great-great granddaughter absolutely loved them. We’ll see what she thinks
of my newest series, it’s a period piece about shape-shifting space pirates who fall in love with a telepathic earth girl.”
Sadie chuckles. “Wow, making a transition away from vampires and werewolves then?”
Stan winks. “Not exactly.”
Charlie notices that Stan has a drink. “Are you going to write it under a new pen name? And where’d you get your drink? I ordered mine decades ago.”
Stan pats the breast pocket of his jacket. “Brought my own flask. You can never trust these sorts of mingle-mangle-events. I frequently find myself around annoying people and am so tempted to just kill them for a drink!”
Charlie’s face slowly transforms into having a wide smile and squinted eyes.
“And yes, it will be under a new pen name. I’m thinking about using a male name for this one, possibly an Englishman like myself, although humans do love American authors. What do you think about David Johnson?”
Sadie shifts her weight. “Not bad, but how about Johnny Davidson?”
Stan slurps his drink. “Hmm, that does have more of the American bravado in it. I like it. Thank you!”
Charlie glances at the crowded bar. “I can’t wait to read about it, good luck.” He turns to Sadie. “I’m going to go hunt down a drink or rip someone’s head off and pour my own.” He turns and walks away.
Sadie shakes her head and grins.
“Ah, good old Charlie. I owe much of my career to that beast. You know I saw him in full armor once during the Seven Years War? I based the count’s armor on his.”
“I think I did know that.”
“It was terrifying.”
Sadie smiles. “I bet. Thanks for saying hello, Stan, but I see another old friend that I must speak with.”
“Oh certainly, I’m sitting in on the House meetings as a spectator. I’ll be around.”
Charlie stands behind the swarm of vampires at the bar and tries to find a spot to cut through. A man in a gray suit seems to be ending a conversation, and Charlie positions himself to seize the vacancy. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a couple that has also spotted the upcoming opportunity. He makes his move first; whether the opening will be there when he arrives or not, he is on his way.