by B. M. Hodges
As Tomas snuck through the kitchen door, the waiter must have heard a noise because he paused what he was doing and cocked his head.
Tomas froze.
As the waiter waited and listened, Tomas noticed he was missing an ear.
Tomas slid behind the waiter, took a deep breath, pulled the sting of lights over his head and began choking the life out of him. The waiter didn’t put up much of a struggle. He more or less pressed his body back against Tomas and banged on the lip of the sink with his open hands.
When it was all over, Tomas laid him on the ground and confirmed he was a zombie. It was obvious really. If the missing ear didn’t give it away, then surely the missing nose did the trick.
Curious to see what the zombie waiter had been working on, Tomas glanced into the sink. There was a mass of organs, crushed and squeezed into a pulpy mass. Whether the remains were human, animal or fish, it was impossible to tell. But this waiter zombie hadn’t been dining on the gore; the whole scene had the look of preparation.
Tomas tried to wrap his head around this. He recalled the zombie he had beheaded the night before dragging the corpse and now this. Two possible explanations came to him: either zombies infected with IHS-2 were passively following echoes of their previous existence or they retained more than mere rudimentary instincts like those infected with the original strain. This waiter, Tomas reasoned, could have been doing waiter duties, only handling fistfuls of gore in the sink instead of fresh veggies or dirty dishes. Or he may have been up to something nefarious, an action oozing out of a darker understanding.
He checked his watch.
12:20 am.
He hoped Abigail and her friend wouldn’t be late and they could skiff across the strait before the Singapore Coast Guard was the wiser.
If they don’t make it, I have to assume they’re trapped somewhere on the island.
Thirty minutes later and he was worried.
He pulled out Abigail’s headshot photo, stared at it, then turned it over and reread the address and directions he had scrawled on the back to her parent’s apartment about five miles south from his current locale. It didn’t make much sense to stand around and wait or to continue hunting for infected at the jetty so he began searching for transportation. He was sure that she was alive. It was just a matter of locating her whereabouts.
She’s a survivor, Tomas thought. She’ll find me if I don’t find her first.
Chapter Seven
Vitura International Research Laboratory Ship
Singapore Strait/International Waters
Jayden and Vines marched through the laboratories on C-deck in search of Eli Henry. Aside from the lab geeks, the rest of the crew avoided C-deck like the plague - because, literally, it was full of plague. Since the christening of the VIRaL, Vitura employees, defense contractors and ship crew made it a point to step a bit faster on the landing of C-deck on their way to the decks below. Stories of human experimentation and vivisection floated along the currents of rumor. There were sea tales of dumping masses of bodies in the churning ocean waters. And there were eye-witness reports of zombies being put through the paces in obstacle courses and used as targets in weapons calibration exercises in the antechamber formerly used as a mess hall for the three thousand plus military personnel that used to inhabit the ship. C-deck made it extra difficult, psychologically, to remain on the vessel for yearlong contracted deployments.
Private Vines kept her eyes forward as they marched down the hallway, letting Sergeant Jayden scan the interiors of the rooms for Eli Henry.
Vines was one of the instructors who took civilian personnel assigned to the ship through an intensive, mandatory six-week program to whip them into shape and give them some emergency training in the event the ship ran into trouble on the high seas or one of the many bio-hazards were accidentally released.
She remembered Eli well.
Eli was one of the worst specimens she had ever taught. He trailed behind the other trainees during physical activities and had a notably sour disposition when it came to classroom training. Eli acted as though he were above it and intentionally failed each day’s worth of exercises and instruction. She had recommended his immediate dismissal from the ship, citing his lack of physical ability and insolent attitude. But, lo and behold, he was put through anyway. Either he has a unique skill that the Vitura higher-ups require or this is a serious case of nepotism, she had thought at the time.
Even more troubling, Eli had taken an interest in the Hopper theory of flight. One month into their latest deployment, Eli decided he wanted to be trained on a Hopper and, as Vines was the only Master Hopper Certification Instructor, she was assigned to train him. Vines spent every Thursday and Tuesday evening teaching him the controls and how to analyze vectors. On the day very day he completed the last of his virtual training on the Hopper module, he quit, saying he was too busy to actually fly one.
What a coward.
“There.” Jayden pointed past an open door to a row of desks. She could make out Eli’s greasy red hair and greasier face. He was leaning back on a chair staring at a screen filled with numbers in one of the cubicles, spooning gobs of Neapolitan ice cream from an oversized bucket into his gaping maw.
“I’ll get him.”
Vines walked up behind him and slapped the back of his head with the back of her gloved hand. Ice cream and spoon went flying into the screen, the spoon ricocheting off the top of the monitor and smacking against the back wall of his cubicle. He turned around, more afraid than angry, rubbing the back of his head. “Jeez, Vines. You really had to do that?”
“Get up. Time you earned your wings.” She slapped down an order sheet in the event he became resistant. “This is where you earn your salary, Eli. You’re hopping with us into Singapore to retrieve samples. Read your orders before you start whining.”
Eli read the sheet, his red complexion turning a ghostly pale, “But Vines, I’ve never taken one on a real flight. You know that. Going on a night flight into zombie territory is too much. If the hop doesn’t kill me, I’m sure to be viciously torn apart and eaten. I can’t go. I won’t go. I need to make a call.” He snatched a com-link from the desk and shoved it in his ear. Vines smacked him up the side of the head again and the com-link flew across the desk.
“No time for that Eli. We’re on a deadline. Get your lazy ass out of that chair before I beat you to death in front of your colleagues. Do you want that, Eli?” She grabbed him by the collar, pulled him upright and shoved him towards Sergeant Jayden who was leaning on the doorstop grinning.
The entire way to the armory, Eli griped and resisted and Vines continued to propel him forward, “Why me? I can’t help you. I’m not even a biologist. Can’t you see there’s been a mistake?” he whimpered.
“Never should have trained for Hopper flight, dumbass,” Vines laughed, “That makes you uniquely qualified for this mission--chickens are coming home to roost.”
Jayden stayed back a couple paces. His mind was on their targets. He had allowed himself thirty minutes to study the two girls’ files and as much information about Singapore topography as he could get his hands on. Jayden concluded that the girls were most likely innocent and were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time when they were captured at the field hospital in Mersing. In his opinion, Bertrand was making assumptions and leaps of logic that were astounding when it came to Tomas Overstreet and Qual Pharmaceuticals. He must have lingering anger over Tomas’ infiltration of Vitura San Diego Campus four years ago when he destroyed a large chunk of their research and burned most of the compound to the ground. Not to mention Dr. Greer’s defection. Dr. Greer had been Bertrand’s top scientist, and he took it hard when he found out she was working against the company. In any event, his orders were to take the girls prisoner and bring them back to the ship. And if Tomas happened to show his face, Jayden would also bring him back alive along as a trophy.
Jayden and Vines assembled their gear for the operation, slinging XM-8 battle rifl
es with plasma torch attachments, standard issue TSD pistols and plenty of ammo. They toyed with the idea of packing explosives but decided against them as this was primarily a retrieval mission.
Meanwhile, Eli was having a devil of a time squeezing into his bio-rated tactical response combat fatigues, his chunky rear end poking over the back of his pants as he jumped up and down trying to pull them on. Then his zipper on the lining of the jacket kept catching in his unsightly belly hair.
The panel above the doorway began flashing green. “Sergeant Jayden, please report to the Jump Deck.”
“Time to fly.” Jayden gripped Vines’ gloved hand one more time. He had every confidence in her abilities as a soldier. Bertrand had requested her by name and there wasn’t a finer close-combat fighter on the ship or anyone else more capable of attending to their slovenly companion.
Nearly an hour was consumed with checks and rechecks of their equipment. By the time they had geared up and were cleared for the jump, Jayden was on edge and felt a high degree of foreboding at the idea of entering a hot zone with someone as incompetent as Eli Henry.
The three prepped wing-packs hanging on the rail along the wall waiting for their handlers could have been mistaken for parts of the bulkhead. Hoppers didn’t look like much when they were on lockdown. They were only about the size of a military assault pack painted in color-shifting camouflage with long thin wings retracted downward to floor.
Vines saw that Eli’s scientific equipment was stowed tight across his chest and closely inspected his Hopper to make sure it was in tip-top mechanical condition.
Specialist Crawford, the jump technician and Jayden’s longtime poker buddy, gave the all clear to merge with their Hoppers.
Vines helped lean Eli against the first of the packs. When it sensed its pilot, four flexible arms stretched around his torso and two others slid over his shoulders, locking the device securely onto his back. Thin spindles dangling from the bottom found his legs and attached at the thigh and upper calve. The spindles allowed the pilot to walk with some stability while wearing the two hundred pound device and retracted the operator’s legs to a more comfortable horizontal position during flight.
Once Jayden and Vines were strapped in, the three of them were assisted into jump tubes by Specialist Crawford’s crew.
“Flight check and visual inspection compete, sir. Go time, t-minus one minute,” Specialist Crawford announced in his gravelly voice.
Jayden felt more nervous anxiety as the tubes were aimed at an optimal trajectory that would maximize acceleration to launch them on a course that calculated the highest launch while allowing the Hoppers to use the constant gravitational descent without their operators passing out from a ten-second 12 g eyeballs-in jerk of a launch.
Manning a Hopper wasn’t “flying” one in the conventional sense; it was more of a controlled descent, as their primary purpose was to give their pilot the ability to glide over long distances and land in tight quarters. They weren’t made for actual flight. It wasn’t possible to make more than one or two sweeping turns while in flight and only minor corrections to the pre-plotted course were allowed by the computer guidance system. The four fluttering wings kept you aloft, but really their only purpose was to stop the pilot from falling like a rock. Hopper flight reminded Jayden of paper airplanes: you pointed it in the right direction, threw it and hoped to hell a tiny breeze didn’t knock it off course.
“Three, two, one …” Specialist Crawford gave them an up signal and there was a rush of acceleration.
Vines squeezed her eyes shut and hoped Eli remembered to do the same or they would be escorting a blind and useless scientist through the hot zone.
Pumpf, Pumpf, Pumpf.
The roar of air rushing past tore at their helmets as the Hoppers’ guidance system aligned the three pilots into formation. The Hoppers arms flexed tightly across their thighs to slow blood pooling in the legs to prevent passing out. Their ascent slowed and the four thin wings unfolded and began to beat the air, pulling them up the last few yards to a preprogrammed height.
Vines felt her legs retract into a horizontal position and she opened her eyes and looked out across the water at the glowing fires illuminating the darkened buildings of Singapore.
In her estimation, the biggest flaw with Hoppers was the lack of arm rests. There were no grips, handles or anything. On her countless jumps, she realized that folding your arms underneath, as awkward as that sounds, was much better than holding them out Superman-style or letting them dangle below.
There was no way of knowing whether Eli was alright until they reached their destination. Once they were above the targeted landing point, the beating motion of the Hopper wings would treble to control their descent. But even then, landings were always dangerous given that, even with the optimal pilot weight, the impact was close to jumping off a one-story building.
Eli will be lucky to make it to the ground without multiple compound fractures.
They sped along through the night air high above the city-state and the mayhem below. Fires, explosions and swarms of people congealed between the skyscrapers and office buildings. Cannon fire erupted from AH-64 Apaches as they fired on crowds storming the Parliament and the Istana, the president’s residence.
It was anarchy.
While studying the maps of Singapore, Jayden had come to the conclusion that retrieval of the two girls wouldn’t be much of a problem. It was about five miles from their apartment complex to the harbor where an extraction team would be waiting. In the comfort of his room, Jayden had figured he would have plenty of time to get the samples, the girls, and maybe even Tomas. But now that he saw the extent of the chaos on the ground, he realized they may have to fight every inch of the way.
The Hopper wings began to beat faster.
Vines signaled the two trailing operators to prepare for landing.
When they began to hover, Vines dropped out of sight, presumably landing safely on the targeted roof.
Jayden counted the requisite thirty seconds then motioned to Eli to go next.
Eli frantically shook his head, No.
Hopper wings could sustain hover for a maximum of five minutes before burning through their fuel cells.
Jayden had no choice but to break com silence, “Vines, he’s refusing to land. You’re going to have to surrogate. Be quick about it. I don’t want to die in this contraption.”
“Roger that, Sarge.”
Vines accessed Eli’s guidance system remotely and he began to descend as Vines took over his apparatus controls. But he started to freak out, jerking around and flailing his arms. Jayden could hear him screaming. His extra weight along with the additional movement was putting undue strain on the wings and the flow engine.
Risking being blinded from the white hot fires burning below, Jayden switched his visor to night vision to watch Eli’s approach. He could see Vines in the center of the rooftop, her arms orchestrating the descent like a symphony conductor. Eli swung about wildly as the Hopper’s guidance lost its ability to maintain a linear path to its target.
At about fifty feet above the rooftop, the wings malfunctioned and Eli dropped like a dead weight directly on top Vines, the two of them collapsing in a heap of limbs and metal parts.
Jayden landed on the rooftop nearby the wreckage.
He shucked off his wings and ran to them.
Eli lay motionless on top of Vines. Only Vines’ legs were visible, sticking out from underneath his torso.
Jayden grabbed Eli by one arm and pulled him off Vines.
Ignoring the scientist, he yelled, “Vines!” as he dropped to his knees. She wasn’t moving and her helmet, cracked in two, was lying in pieces beside her. He found a faint pulse. Jayden examined her head and found a large goose egg growing on her forehead underneath her hairline. I hope the impact didn’t fracture your skull, dear friend.