The Last Town

by Knight, Stephen

  Reese didn’t like that. “Listen, you guys need to harden that part of the hospital. You have armed security inside?” he asked, reaching for his radio.

  “We have security, but right now, there’s only one man in that area.”

  “Narvaez!” Reese shouted. He pulled his ROVER close to his face. “Detective Four King to One Frank Three. Over.”

  Captain Narvaez hurried over, followed by two Guardsmen. “What’s up, Detective?”

  Bates’s voice came over the radio. “Detective Four King, this is One Frank Three. Over.”

  “One Frank Three, I need you back at the command post. Over.”

  “Detective Four King, we’re on the way.”

  “Sir, you have something for us?” Narvaez asked. He looked from Reese to the hospital nurse and back again.

  “We have folks in the hospital who are turning,” Reese said.

  “Okay. We knew that would happen,” Narvaez said. His right hand moved along the frame of his M4, coming to a rest on the weapon’s pistol grip. “How many?”

  The nurse responded, “Maybe about fourteen.”

  Reese was surprised at the number.

  “Fourteen?” Narvaez asked. “We’ve seen like maybe seven or eight cases come in through emergency. How can there be fourteen?”

  “They come in through different parts of the hospital,” the nurse said. “Some of them were here undergoing treatment for another illness, and… well, they got sick.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “There’s actually more than fourteen. I’ve been told we have almost thirty people who are potentially… infected.”

  Jesus. “All of them are in isolation, right?” Reese asked.

  “No. That ward is full. We’re isolating them in different areas of the hospital.”

  Reese gaped at her. “Do you know where in the hospital these other cases are?”

  An LAPD squad car rolled up, and Sergeant Bates emerged from behind the wheel. Three other police officers stepped out of the other doors. Reese waved him over, and Bates sauntered toward them, hitching up his heavy patrol belt.

  “I don’t know exactly where all of them are,” the nurse said.

  “Well, holy jumping shit, ma’am. Who does?” Narvaez asked.

  “The chief of staff’s office is—”

  She was cut off by gunfire from somewhere inside the hospital. Gunfire that, if Reese was correct, came from above them.

  SINGLE TREE, CALIFORNIA

  “Well, if it isn’t my billionaire guardian angel.”

  Corbett looked up from his menu. “Hello there, Dani,” he said, tilting his head to the right a bit so she could kiss his cheek. “How are things?”

  “Same as always,” she told him, putting her hands on her hips. “You know how things are in Single Tree. Nothing happens until the snow falls. Didn’t know you were in town. What brings you back here?”

  Corbett spread his hands. “What, you don’t watch the news?”

  Danielle nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. The world’s going to hell, I guess. Looks like New York got hit pretty hard. Are things headed south in Dallas, too?”

  “Actually, Dallas was fine when I left. Now that the FAA has shut down the airspace, maybe it’ll stay that way for a while longer. But I decided I’d be better off here than there.”

  “Huh. Why’s that? Single Tree is so boring, even the zombies wouldn’t pay attention to it?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Corbett jerked his thumb toward the window beside him. The diner faced the main drag, and there were more than a few cars and trucks tooling past in both directions. It was almost six o’clock, and darkness was slowly uncoiling over the town. The traffic flow was unusual for the time of year. “Seems like Single Tree is kind of popular these days,” he said.

  Danielle looked around the half-full diner. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Seems to me most people are staying home for dinner tonight.”

  “Business off?”

  “Well, yesterday, it was normal. Today, it’s been a little slow.”

  “Talked to your father earlier today,” Corbett said. “His tanks are getting sucked dry. Says he had to put in an emergency request for more gas and diesel, but he’s not sure anything’s going to be available.”

  Danielle ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Really? I think he just got a delivery.”

  “Three days ago, he said. As of then, he had about forty-seven thousand gallons of product available. Now, he has a little over fifteen thousand.” Corbett pointed out the window again. “They’re the ones who are taking it. All the transients. People out of Los Angeles and Las Vegas trying to get to someplace where they’ll feel safe. Though I don’t know what qualifies as ‘safe’ right now.”

  “Well, if you need some gas, Barry, I can get you squared away,” Danielle said.

  Corbett smiled. “Thanks, Marine, but I’m good. Believe me.”

  “Okay, but if times get tough, keep me in mind. I owe you and all that.”

  “Thanks.” Corbett looked up at her critically. “Well, I see no engagement rings or anything of the sort, so it looks like you’re still on the market. Maybe you should let your hair grow out a bit, slap on some nail polish, and stop dressing like such the tomboy, huh?”

  She laughed. “Not happening. Besides, no one’s very interested in a peg leg.”

  Corbett clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Self-pity, Marine? Really?”

  “Reality, Marine, reality,” she replied. “No one in a one-horse town is interested in a one-legged girl. Except for maybe Willy Simmonds, and he’s a known deviant. I’m not missing out on anything, anyway.”

  Corbett grunted and looked down at the menu again. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but he knew it would be a long night. He needed something.

  “So what’ll it be?” Danielle asked, her pad at the ready.

  “Tomato soup and a grilled ham and cheese.”

  “Shouldn’t you be watching your cholesterol level?”

  “Cholesterol isn’t the thing that’s going to kill me.”

  Danielle smiled. “And to drink?”

  “Unless you guys got a liquor license while I was away, just water will do.” Corbett looked out at the traffic moving past the diner. “Though Lord knows I could use a couple of bottles of tequila right now.”

  ###

  Gary Norton was among the first to arrive at the town hall that night. Mayor Max Booker and Chief Grady sat at the curved table at the front of the room, and they looked up expectantly when Norton walked in. Booker got to his feet and leaned to his right, as if trying to look past Norton.

  “It’s just me,” Norton said.

  “Well, where’s Corbett?” Booker asked.

  Norton shrugged. “He’ll be here, Mayor. Where do you want me?”

  “Are you going to be, well, presenting anything?”

  Norton shook his head. “Only my award-winning smile.”

  Booker returned to his seat, a disappointed look on his face. “Just take a seat wherever, then.”

  Three rows of auditorium-style seats faced the curved desk where the town council would sit. Norton sat down in a second-row aisle seat and leaned back, trying to get comfortable. The rest of the council trickled in, and Norton groaned when he saw Hector Aguilar head toward the front of the room. The pharmacy owner shot him a nasty look then descended upon Chief Grady like a vulture swooping down on fresh roadkill. Grady leaned back and steepled his hands on the table. Norton wondered if the chief was praying that Aguilar would leave him alone. If so, his prayers went unanswered.

  “Chief, I want to talk to you about one of your officers,” Aguilar snapped. “He released three shoplifters today!”

  “You mean after Wally Wallace got shot?” Grady asked. “He told me about it. I thought it was kind of odd that you didn’t mention it then.”

  “Well… well, we’d just had a shooting, for God’s sake! Of course I wasn’t going to bring it up!”

  �
�Hector, sit down,” Booker said.

  Aguilar glared at the mayor. “I have legitimate business to discuss here, Max.”

  “Not now, you don’t,” Booker said. “Sit down, or leave the chamber.”

  Aguilar blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  Booker looked at Aguilar evenly. “I didn’t stutter, Hector. Sit quietly or leave. Your call.”

  Aguilar laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t believe you have much authority over me, Max. I’m a sitting member of the council, a representative of the town. You don’t tell me what to do!”

  “He does tonight,” Grady said. “Sit down, or I’ll escort you out.”

  A middle-aged woman named Gemma Washington took her seat beside Grady. She nudged Grady with one pointy elbow. “If he resists, will you shoot him?”

  Grady smiled. “We’ve had enough shooting in this town for one day.”

  “Well, get ready. There’s more coming.”

  Everyone looked toward the door as Barry Corbett stalked in like a hungry lion scouring the savanna for prey. Three of his security detail followed him, one carrying a box. Norton wondered why Barry had brought them inside.

  As he approached Norton’s seat, Corbett stopped short and looked down at him. “You read my e-mail?” he asked.

  Norton nodded. “Yep. Quite the eye opener. Seen the news about New York?”

  “I have.”

  “Then I hope your guys are starting work, because LA’s starting to go the same route.”

  “Excuse me, just what is this about?” Aguilar asked. He turned to Booker. “Do you mean to tell me that Corbett called this special session tonight?”

  “No. I did,” Booker said. “But Mr. Corbett has some specific agenda items that he’d like to discuss.”

  “What agenda might that be?” Grady asked. There was no trace of confrontation in the police chief’s voice, and Norton figured it was a fair question.

  “I’ll explain in just a moment.” Corbett turned to the man behind him holding the box then pointed at Norton. “Mr. Norton will need one, then distribute a copy to everyone else in the room.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. He put the box on the floor, pulled off the lid, and handed Norton a thick spiral-bound document before moving on.

  Norton paged through the printout, which included everything Corbett had sent him via e-mail, plus an executive summary titled, “Preparing Single Tree for the Apocalypse.” He chuckled quietly when he saw that.

  As the rest of the copies were being distributed, the door to the chamber opened again, and Victor Kuruk eased into the room. The leader of the Paiute-Shoshone reservation was a solid sort of guy, and he dressed the part: faded jeans, well-worn work boots, and a long-sleeved denim shirt rolled up at the elbows. He carried a leather jacket over one arm, and his long, silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was maybe ten or fifteen years older than Norton, but he carried himself like a much younger man, which made him a favorite among the Hollywood elite when it came time to casting calls for older, wise-looking Native Americans. Victor had made a good chunk of change appearing in everything from television commercials to feature films. He also had a magnificent speaking voice, a rich baritone that was as flexible as a yoga instructor. That gift had made him a millionaire doing voiceover work. As if those accolades weren’t enough, Victor had written several nonfiction books about the regional Native American population that had been published by the University of California Press. But like everyone else who called the Single Tree vicinity home, success hadn’t been enough to dislodge Victor Kuruk, even if home was a small reservation community with a population of less than four hundred.

  Max Booker waved. “Hello, Victor. Thanks for coming.”

  Corbett cracked a small smile. “Fashionably late as always, Vic.”

  “I had trouble deciding what to wear,” Victor replied.

  “What were the choices, denim and flannel?”

  Victor nodded. “It’s a bit nippy out tonight but still not really cold enough for flannel. In the end, it wasn’t that tough of a choice, which is too bad. I wanted to show off my latest shirt from Lands’ End. How is everyone?” He sauntered down the aisle.

  “Doing fine,” Corbett said. “Grab a handout and have a seat. We have some territory to cover, and it’s going to affect your people as well.”

  “Is this meeting about how we’re going to handle the zombies?” Victor asked as one of Corbett’s men handed him a spiral-bound book. He turned his dark eyes toward Corbett. “I see you’ve brought some help.”

  “Have a seat, Vic,” Corbett said again.

  Victor nodded to Norton as he walked past and settled into a seat in the first row. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a pair of reading glasses, and slipped them on.

  “Gary, why don’t you come up and join the rest of us,” Corbett said.

  Norton shook his head. “I’m fine where I am. I like being closer to the door, just in case Hector starts agitating a little too furiously.” Aguilar glared at him, and Norton shot him the finger. “That’s the number of friends you’ve made over the years, including yourself,” Norton said.

  “Outrageous!” Aguilar shouted. “This man has no right to be here!”

  Booker got to his feet. “Gary, knock that off right now!”

  “Yeah, I’ll handle the confrontations for the moment, if you don’t mind, Norton,” Corbett said. He turned back to Booker. “We have everyone present, correct?”

  Booker nodded after sending a parting glare Norton’s way. “Everyone is here. As mayor of the town of Single Tree, I call this emergency meeting of the town council into session. Just some comments before we begin. Earlier today, Mr. Barry Corbett and Mr. Gary Norton paid me a visit regarding Single Tree’s level of preparation for what’s happening across the country. As everyone is aware, there’s a virus out there that, uh, apparently… well, anyone who dies from it seems to, um, reanimate.”

  “We’ve seen the news, and I’ve seen it for myself,” Aguilar said. “I think it’s mostly a bunch of hooey, but something’s definitely happening. What does this have to do with us meeting here?”

  Booker sighed and turned toward Corbett. “Well, Barry, I guess I’ll just turn it over to you.”

  Corbett nodded. “Thanks, Max. Folks, in the handout I’ve provided, you’ll find detailed plans to harden this town and fortify it against the coming threat. We’ve already seen how the major cities are faring. New York’s gone, Boston and DC are faltering, and even out here, Los Angeles and San Diego are starting to pop apart at the seams. Whatever this affliction is, it seems that it does enable the dead to walk, and the dead apparently want only one thing: to devour the living. It sounds stupid, and it sounds dopey, but there it is. We’re all living in a world where George Romero is the resident god.”

  Paper rustled as the people on the council thumbed through their handouts. Norton did the same, even though he’d already reviewed the information on his laptop. The booklet was at least a hundred pages long and included aerial maps of the town and surrounding vicinity, construction diagrams, lists of accumulated materials, inventories, labor projections, everything except for costs. That was because Corbett had already bought and paid for everything, and for a billionaire facing the end of the world, getting reimbursed was low on the list of priorities.

  Chief Grady looked up from his binder. “Mr. Corbett, this is… this is certainly an interesting bunch of documents you’ve handed out. Your report is quite thorough. If I were to consider this a master plan for defending the town, would I be correct?”

  Corbett nodded. “Yes, Chief. You would be correct. I wanted to bring this to you earlier today, but Max preferred you find out with everyone else.”

  Grady paged through the document some more. “So, uh, you’re basically talking about digging several trenches around the town and erecting steel plank walls topped with concertina wire. And inside that, you want additional defenses, so that different parts of the town can be
isolated from each other. You’re also talking about building tunnels and bunkers and installing underground fuel tanks for gas, diesel, propane, and natural gas.”

  “Again, correct,” Corbett said.

  Aguilar barked out a laugh. “This is ridiculous! You want to tear up the entire town? For what reason? We have police to protect us, and Inyo County has more!” He slapped his binder closed with a smirk. “You’re crazy, Corbett. You’ve got paranoid dementia.”

  Norton stood. “Hey, Hector? Just to get this out of the way, fuck you. As usual, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I flew all over Los Angeles today, from the Pacific Coast to Burbank. That place is falling apart. I watched zombies try to take down a bunch of firemen. I saw all sorts of disasters in the making. From the news, we know that pretty much every major city that accepts international traffic is taking it right in the shorts. New York City is down for the count. Boston. Miami. And all that makes sense because this thing has been tearing through Europe and Asia for weeks now. The government’s been playing it down, trying to keep the peace, keep everyone calm, keep everyone compliant. Well, guess what? They fucked up. They fucked up so bad that whatever it was that made most of Europe go dark is here. Right now, it’s making itself a nice little home in the US of A, and from what I’ve seen, we’re going to be on our own pretty soon. So you don’t want to deal with it, you stupid Mexican fuck? That’s awesome. Get the hell out of here, and let the rest of us get to work, okay?” Norton had shouted the last few sentences, firing them across the room like bullets.

  Everyone gawked at him, including Hector, whose eyes were wide and bright behind his glasses. Even Corbett and his Marine pals looked impressed. Norton was angry, though he didn’t quite know why. Bubbling beneath the anger was fear, but he knew where that came from. He had glimpsed perhaps only the tiniest glimmer of the hell that was building in the country, and that had been enough. Gary Norton was a believer. The zombie apocalypse was coming, just as Barry Corbett had said.

  “Uh, thanks for the support, Norton,” Corbett said. “Really, you should try out for a cheerleader squad or something.”