by David Achord
“Mister Gunderson…”
“Call me Zach.”
He smiled. “Thank you. Zach, it’s my understanding she slit his throat.”
“Yeah, she didn’t know a sniper was targeting him and was about to blow his fucking brains out, but no matter, it worked out in the end.”
“And you don’t believe this was an act of murder?” Senator Polacek asked.
“What would you have done?” I retorted.
“Well, I most certainly would not have committed murder,” she replied.
“Yes ma’am, I believe that. But my question is, what would you have done?”
She stared at me as she worked her mouth. I held a hand up.
“Let me help you with the answer. You have no idea what you would’ve done because you don’t know what it’s like out there. You either fight for your survival, or you bend over and hope they’re gentle with you.”
There were a couple of chuckles. The senator’s face turned a scarlet red.
While she glowered at me, my stomach rumbled. I glanced at my watch and confirmed it was well past my lunchtime.
“Senator Duckworth, let me ask you a question.”
“By all means,” he said.
Before I could ask, I was interrupted.
“You don’t ask the questions here, Mister Gunderson.” The person who said it put a derogatory emphasis on the mister. I scanned the room and found him.
He was an older, prune face man with an authoritative scowl. He had to be in his sixties, and it looked like he was fighting a losing battle with a receding hairline. I did not recall meeting him when we arrived, but I noticed he’d been squirming around and scowling during the entire debriefing, kind of like his hemorrhoids were acting up, or maybe he had pinworms.
Now you can see why I was irritated. On the one hand, I felt obligated to help out in any way I could, but on the other hand, I was wondering why I was allowing idiots like prune face to treat me like a child. If he noticed I was getting pissed, he didn’t show it.
“We are not through with our investigation of the murder of Amos Coltrane.”
“It’s Almose,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“His name was Almose, you called him Amos, and I’ve already discussed the incident. Either move on to another topic or I’m going to lunch.”
“Well now, young man, if I say we’re going to discuss it that is exactly what we’re going to do.”
“We have a saying down south, Senator. We don’t chew our cabbage twice.”
He frowned at me over his bifocals. “You’re not making any sense.”
“It’s called a colloquialism; it means I don’t care to repeat myself.” The man obviously had never watched Ernest T. Bass in action. I leaned forward in my chair.
“You people are focusing too much on stuff that doesn’t matter. Coltrane’s death is in the past. What are you going to do, put Janet on trial? I bet you don’t even have a judicial system in place. And what if you do? Are you going to send her to prison if you find her guilty? Have you even thought this through?” I looked around the room to emphasize my point.
“You need to be focusing on the future, and everyone sitting around doing nothing but engaging in endless prattle is not the answer.”
“Alright, Zach, I’ll bite,” Senator Duckworth said. “What do you believe we should be focusing on?”
I made a conscious effort not to grit my teeth. Kelly said it was a dead giveaway that I was getting mad or frustrated because my jaw muscles flexed and a vein popped up along the side of my neck. I looked around the room and then focused on Senator Duckworth.
“I’m not sure exactly what you people have been doing the last four years, but if this morning is any indication, I’d say not much. Now, the delegation, and others like it, is a positive step, but I think you people are missing something important.”
“And what might that be?” Senator Duckworth asked.
“The zombies,” I answered.
“We are well aware of the zombies, Mister Gunderson,” hemorrhoid man retorted. “We have them well under control.”
I found myself shaking my head. “All of you listen carefully: these things are changing. They’re thinking again, they’re working together. They’re planning, coordinating. In short, although they’re numbers have diminished somewhat, they’re far more dangerous now.”
“Again, we’re aware of all of this, Mister Gunderson,” Senator Polacek said this time. “In fact, our scientists expected this type of behavior from the surviving zombies. It is nothing more than primitive behavior.”
“There is one other thing I don’t believe you people know about.” Before I could speak further, Senator Polacek interrupted.
“Oh, let me guess, they’re communicating telepathically.”
“Yes,” I said.
She laughed out loud now, as did several others.
“Oh, come now, Mister Gunderson,” she said. “I must admit, you have an active imagination, but that is all it is, the overactive imagination of a naïve young man.”
Now, I felt myself clenching my jaw and was about to tell them all to go fuck themselves, but, I didn’t want to embarrass Kelly, so I took a deep breath and nodded in acquiescence. A hand raised up from the back row. It was an older man, and he didn’t look like a politician. He saw me looking at him.
“Mister Gunderson…”
“Call me Zach,” I said.
“Thank you. Zach, I would like to hear why you believe they are now communicating telepathically.”
“I’ve personally witnessed it.”
That stopped the guffaws, but I still saw a lot of skepticism.
“Could you describe those instances, please, Zach?” the man asked.
“During the second year, I was out hunting them one day and witnessed them communicating through guttural noises.”
“You were hunting them?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His brow creased. “By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For much the same reason you people have utilized the Marines to eradicate the zombie population around here,” I said.
Now, Seth piped up. “Zach, we had a whole contingent of Marines to do that.”
“I understand, safety in numbers and all that. And we did follow that line of thought, when feasible. For instance, we all got together on Christmas Eve of the second year and killed off a sizeable amount, over a thousand, but we didn’t totally eradicate them. So, sometimes I liked to get out and do some hunting.”
This statement caused a man to whisper fervently into Senator Polacek’s ear. She arched an eyebrow.
“Are you saying you enjoy going out alone and murdering infected people?”
“Yep, but it’s not murder.”
“What is it then?” she pressed.
“It’s more of an act of mercy.” And, it’s fun, but I knew better than to say that out loud.
“Alright,” the man said. “Getting back to the telepathy, tell me about the telepathy you personally witnessed.”
“On April 22nd, a group of zombies were led by a singular zombie and planned a deliberate and simultaneous ambush on two of the houses we were living in.” I paused a moment to let it sink in.
“It could have been verbal communication along with simple, basic teamwork, I can’t say one way or another, but that kind of an operation takes training, rehearsals, communication. The first time I saw an actual telepathic communication was September 29th of the second year. Kelly and I were hiding out in the semi we came here in. We were parked near some railroad tracks. There were thousands of zombies walking together along the tracks. We believe they were migrating toward other food sources, but that’s irrelevant right now. The relevant point, all of a sudden, they stopped in tandem and turned their heads toward us. As you can imagine, it was unnerving.”
“They might have heard something,” somebody suggested.
“I
disagree,” I said.
“Please continue,” the older man said.
“There are other, small examples, but I think the most telling example is the sophisticated attack on the CDC. I would recommend reading Lieutenant Smithson’s report. In short, there is no way fifty thousand zombies could be coordinated into a massive attack using only grunts and clicks.”
I was getting antsy and shifted in my chair. “In addition to their bodies healing, their brains are functioning different now. That makes them a stronger adversary, and therefore, they need to be studied.”
The man nodded thoughtfully and then turned his head toward another older man sitting beside him. This one looked over his bifocals at me.
“Did you create a network of people down in Nolensville, Mister Gunderson?”
“On a small scale, yes. If you’d read the report prepared by the delegation, you would know we started what was called a rendezvous. It wasn’t large, but it was successful.”
“Interesting,” he said. “And, did you get any manufacturing facilities up and running?”
“No,” I replied. He gave me a look over his bifocals like he was saying, you should practice what you preach.
“I take it you ran into obstacles?” he asked.
“Yes, you could say that.”
“How about a power grid?” he pressed.
“Our home was run on solar power with generators for backup power.”
He continued gazing at me a moment with that same expression before focusing on something on his laptop.
“Let me see. It says on the delegation’s report there is a lady still living in Nolensville by the name of Tonya Lee.”
“Yes.”
“She is a nuclear engineer, correct?” he asked.
“Yes. She’s a smart lady.” And, a tee-total bitch, I thought.
“Her resume is impressive,” the secretary said. “It looks like she has the capability of restoring the power grid down there in Nolensville, yet, she has not done so. Why?”
“She built a small scale steam power plant at the elementary school they live at, but I don’t believe she had any inclination of going any further with it.”
“Yes, I’ve read that. If my fact sheet is correct, there are twenty-nine hydroelectric dams in Tennessee, would you know if that number is correct?”
“I believe that’s correct. None of them are in the Nashville area though,” I said. I’d read that the Percy Priest dam was hydroelectric, but a high school friend’s father worked for the TVA and he had said it wasn’t.
“Have you visited any of them to see if they are still operational?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. He made a good point. I should have at least made an effort to visit one of those dams. I had no idea how to operate one, but I should have at least made an effort to check.
“I also read where you jury-rigged a system to tap into a fuel reservoir.”
“Yes. It was somewhat successful until downtown Nashville flooded and put the reservoir under water.”
“Ah, yes. You speculated the Wolf River dam had collapsed.”
I nodded. “Yes, based on the amount of flood water.”
“But, you did not make any attempts at confirming this particular catastrophe,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I never did get your name,” I said.
“Parvis Anderson,” he said.
Senator Polacek spoke up. “We refer to Parvis and his colleagues as the secretaries,” she said. “They are employees of Mount Weather.” She gestured at Parvis. “Parvis, why don’t you explain?”
The older man cleared his throat again and smiled pleasantly.
“Our duties were to keep Mount Weather running as well as creating and enacting various scenarios. Those would include wartime situations as well as post-apocalyptic scenarios.”
“I see.”
“Back to my original question…”
I cut him off. “Parvis, I want you to understand something. From the time the sun came up until well after dark, all of us worked. Anything from farming, scavenging, hunting, killing zombies, defending ourselves against marauders, you name it. We simply did not have the time nor the manpower to send out long-range surveying parties.”
“That’s too bad,” he said under his breath and began typing on his laptop. He paused a minute and looked up. “Have you ever heard of Ergon, West Virginia?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” I replied and then pursed my lips. “The fuel reservoir I mentioned was owned by Ergon Petroleum, are they related?”
Parvis gave a small smile, but didn’t respond. There was yet another lull in questioning. Everyone else was either looking at their laptops or whispering amongst themselves. I took my cue and stood.
“What are you doing?” hemorrhoid man asked.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this has been, well, I would say interesting, but I’d be lying. I’m sure you’ll think up more questions and I’ll be glad to answer them, but only if you’ll first read the damn report Raymond and the others spent so much time preparing. In the meantime, I’m done here.”
“You’ll be done when we say you’re done,” hemorrhoid man said with an air of indignation. “Sit back down.”
I gave him a long hard look. I could feel my teeth clenching this time. “Wrong answer,” I said before walking out.
Chapter 3 – Change of Command
The meet and greet with the military personnel was far different from what Zach was having to endure. The commanding officer of the military arm of Mount Weather was the Secretary of the Defense who had never served a single minute of military service. Abraham Stark was a career government service employee who apparently knew the right people. Although he was only fifty-two, he’d held various top-level government positions over the years, and I guess he was okay at his job because he kept his job after the election.
His right-hand man was a four-star general by the name of Harlan Fosswell, a fifty-eight-year-old career soldier who maintained a fastidious flattop haircut to go along with his fit physique. His military bearing was so pronounced, he could’ve been wearing bib overalls and he’d still look like a soldier. He was the Chief of Staff of the Army when the plague broke out. He was standing immediately outside of the office door at parade rest when they approached.
“Good morning,” he said perfunctorily and held the door open for them, something a general never did for subordinate officers. Secretary Stark was sitting at a conference table talking to two people when they walked in. He nodded, but didn’t bother standing. After brief introductions were made, he got down to business.
“We have a lot to go over, but the first order of business concerns a mission that has been in the planning stages for far too long,” he said.
“It has been delayed due to a shortage of military personnel and more importantly, someone who is well versed in a combat role,” General Fosswell said. “That would be you, Lieutenant Smithson.” He swiveled his laptop so Justin could see the monitor. He hurriedly looked it over.
“Captain Kitchens has written up a glowing report on you, Lieutenant, and we believe it’s time for a little change in the status quo of our Marine contingent,” Secretary Stark said.
“Currently, we have thirteen Marines,” General Fosswell said.
Justin looked surprised. “That’s all, sir? I mean, I thought there’d be at least a company-sized unit present.”
General Fosswell’s face tightened. “At one time, we did, but we’ve suffered a substantial amount of attrition through casualties and desertion.”
“Our current OIC for the Marine contingent is Ensign Boner,” Secretary Stark said.
“Ensign Lawrence Boner,” Fosswell added with a small twitch below his right eye. “He was fresh out of the Naval Academy and his uncle happened to be the Chief of Staff of Naval Operations. That would have been Admiral Jackson Walker. Admiral Walker had Ensign Boner assigned to him as an aide. Unfortunately, Admiral Walker became infected shortly after his arriva
l here. Ensign Boner is the one who ended up killing his uncle. Suffice it to say, it was rather traumatic for him.” Fosswell paused a moment, forming the words in his head before speaking again.
“Sometimes, I’m a little too blunt, so I’ll say this with as much tact as I can. Ensign Boner has no practical combat training and has shown no real desire to learn or assume a leadership role.”
Now General Fosswell stared pointedly at Justin. “Our contingent of Marines has been suffering since the loss of their original CO. They need a Marine to lead them. A Marine with leadership ability and combat experience under his belt.”
Captain Kitchens even joined in now. “Your prior position with the CIBRF also makes you uniquely qualified for the next mission.”
“I’m your man, sirs,” Justin said without hesitation. He wasn’t sure if the two men were aware of it, but Captain Kitchens had already given him the heads up on this course of action and he was ready.
Secretary Stark smiled and General Fosswell gave a small nod.
“Excellent,” Fosswell said. “I’ve already sent word. Your Marines should be formed up in the parking lot right outside. Perhaps you and your corporal better get moving. Report back to Captain Kitchens when you’ve gotten things squared away.”
Justin and Ruth came to attention. “Aye, sir,” they both said in unison and then rendered crisp salutes before leaving the office.
After the door had shut, the two men turned their attention to the other new arrivals.
“Major Fowkes, Major Parsons, let’s now focus on integrating the two of you into our chain-of-command. Major Parsons, as a doctor, your mission is clear.”
“Uh, sir, I think I need to make a clarification, if I could,” Grant said.
“Go on,” Fosswell replied.
“I became a de facto medical doctor after the outbreak. Colonel Coltrane had taken to referring to me as such and it stuck. My original discipline is pathology; I have a doctorate in it, but I never attended medical school.”
“I see,” Secretary Starks said, gazed steadily at Grant for a moment, and then focused on Sarah.
“Major Fowkes, since we have no operational aircraft, your job here would seem to be a little more problematic.”